


The Marsh

by SafelyAway246



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyAway246/pseuds/SafelyAway246
Summary: There were stories of what happened to those trapped in the Marsh, but they were only hearsay. Nothing but the ghost stories of a small town. Katniss doesn't believe it, until she encounters one. Au.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Hi everyone! This is my first multi-fic story I am posting on this site. My mother told me a story similar to this one long, long ago and I have poured my whole heart and soul into making it special. Updates will be every week. I truly hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> All my love,  
Jo

_ Into the swamps and through the trees _

_ The secrets sing their harmonies _

_ For no one goes into the marsh _

_ And lives to tell the tale  _

_ Into the dark and through the green _

_ You dare not mention the things you see _

_ For no one goes into the marsh _

_ The ghosts won’t fare you well  _

* * *

The expression that Katniss Everdeen had when her mother told them of their impending move, matched that of her father’s, six feet under the ground. Cold, unfeeling, stoic and unchanging. Her immediate refusal sparked a chain reaction unto her sister who blindly copied and mirrored the same movements, causing her mother’s frown to sag even more so down her face. 

Katniss knew what she should have done. How she should have reacted. The ten year age difference between her and her and her 9 year old sister came with the responsibility of setting a good example. But in that moment, like a twig of a tree, something snapped in her. 

Her feet got wind of her emotions and carried her out into her woods. _Her _woods. Her fortress, her safe haven, her abditory. This was the problem; how could she leave her soul. The place that not only harbored elements for their survival but memories of their father; long dead but alive in every leaf, tree and sodden ground. How could she leave him? 

Then, to her left, a gentle whistle caught her ear. It was a blue jay, so intently staring at her. Had he ever seen a human so distraught, she wondered? The bird launched up into the air, a downy hair in its beak, and settled it on its nest, tending to the few eggs inside. 

“You do what you have to do, huh?” 

This was the defining moment for her. 

She would trade her Pennsylvania pastures, her dry forest for financial security, a home that wasn’t coming off of its rusty hinges. She would do this. 

And here she was. In the car with her little family, on the way to their new life. 

Hours passed by like years. The car games had long been finished, electronics dead. Katniss focused all she had on the dry expanse of the nothingness they were driving by on a steady strip of cracked asphalt. She counted every pothole that bumped against the tires and cursed when she lost count. 

“Chin up,” Mrs. Everdeen tried as a begrudging Katniss huffed for the tenth time. Katniss did not in fact chin up, but continued to trace the window pane, and came close to telling her mother in return that it would be better if she would just  _ hush  _ up. 

“How much further, mom?” 

The youngest Everdeen wondered and even in her exhaustion, her voice was chipper. Katniss decided that optimism was in her little sister’s DNA. 

“We’re almost there,” the older woman smiled. 

“We’ve been almost there for an hour now,” Katniss mumbled. 

It must have been recessive though, because Katniss did not have the gene for it. 

A rickety sign and a questionably infrastructured bridge answered Katniss; the faded writing read: 

**PANEM, POPULATION 900**

It was less than her high school. 

They continued on, slowly over the bridge, and soon into what seemed to be the main part of town. It was as if a small child had colored all the buildings. Chalky hues, enough pigment to point out a color, but holey. There was a lack of congruency in the plump and tall and thin and stout storefronts, and the air looked to be clouded with something. 

“This is so cute!” Prim squealed, eyes wide, pupils lapping up the new sights. 

Their car must have had a “northerner” scent all over it because all of the bystanders suddenly became revelers. Katniss glared at a particularly older man who did not break eye contact until the car had driven deeper along the way. Storefronts gave way to a sprinkle of little homes, the whitest, smallest one around the bend was where they finally pulled up. It was simple, which Katniss liked. A wrap-around porch was the highlight of place, save for the stilts under the foundation; she remembered reading somewhere about the hurricanes and floods that befell these parts of Louisiana. 

“Wow,” Primrose beamed, momentarily forgetting her family as she leaped out of the minivan and bound the steps. “This is…”

“So cute,” Katniss smirked at her. 

Prim rolled her eyes before disappearing behind the screen door, not bothering to even heed her older sister’s “wait up!”

Mrs. Everdeen smiled before she shifted her gaze to Katniss, already unloading whatever little boxes were in sight to deliberately avoid whatever her mother was going to say. 

“Are you ready, Kat?”

She hadn’t decided how long to be angry for. If she truly let herself get caught up in blaming games, then it would be forever. She would blame her mother for the disappearing act she pulled after her father died, the instability that ensued after losing her job, the responsibility she had to shoulder so early on because of it. She could blame her for a plethora of things, but in that moment, where she was elbow deep in Prim’s stuffed animals, she sighed, retreating from the trunk and looking her mother square in the face. 

“No,” she sniffed, cocking her head. “But we’re here. So I have to be.” 

As she always did. 

* * *

The parlor was surely a sight to see. 

The floor was non-existent underneath the galore of boxes and cheap containers. Clothes half-strewn along a tattered couch, forgotten boxes half-open in lieu of another thing to open, more interesting, rediscovered treasures. Katniss smiled at her sister, perched on the windowsill seat eagerly digging through one; a massive stockpile of albums and dolls under where her feet were dangling.

They’d made some progress, the Everdeen ladies. It helped that the house was furnished already, so they mainly focused on the basics. Clothes, kitchen supplies. It was mechanic; the sound of scotch tape, cardboard scratches, interlaced with some laughter from time to time. And the house wasn’t a labyrinth. A foyer gave way to a kitchen, a den and three modest sized bedrooms upstairs. Katniss’ room overlooking the swamplands right near the home that she had half a mind to explore. 

Katniss’ stomach gurgled, the sound adding to the cacophony. All of the car snacks had been long since demolished on the ride over, and the stale pizza from the 7-11 pit stop was only enough to hold them over for just a little while. 

From the kitchen, her mother looked sheepish, glancing at her wrist before fishing out two crumpled twenties from her pocket and handing it to her eldest. 

“Go get some grub,” she ushered them out and planting a kiss on Prim’s head. “Bring me back something good.” 

It would be the first time the girls would go into town since their arrival. Katniss tailed a thrilled Prim, ready to take on their new town. Katniss, not so much. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In a town of 900, Katniss shouldn’t have expected the walk to be longer than it was. Within 15 minutes, they were back in the center of town, street lights flickering on as the dusk began to grow and the faintest of lightning bugs dotting the distance. 

It was livelier, as it should have been on a saturday evening. And the thrum of it all absolutely enthralled Prim whose eyes shone gold reflecting the glints of the busy bodies. Katniss smiled sadly; it had been awhile since Prim had something like a community. Before the move, she had her fair share of friends, but even then, she didn’t quite fit in. The way a butterfly didn’t fit in with caterpillars, or a daisy in a field of tulips. Maybe she would find someone here who would mirror her beauty. 

Katniss hadn’t realized Prim had stopped walking beside her until she was five strides down. She whipped her head around to find her sister entranced, sagged against the glass, her forehead the only thing propping up her tiny frame. 

“Is this heaven?” She breathed, eyes glued to the showcase of cakes in the window. 

Katniss didn’t blame her, those were the most stunning pastries she had ever seen; an array of intricate icing designs spiraling up. The closest thing they’d had back home to a bakery were frozen croissants at the local gas station. 

Prim tugged on her sister’s hand after peering at the sign that read Mellark’s Bakery. “Can we eat here?”

Katniss nodded, pushing the door open and startling a bit at the jingle, and at the loud hearty laugh at the older man behind the counter. 

The heat of the bakery coupled with the ever-present slick of humidity outside should have been uncomfortable, but between the aroma that did in fact remind her of heaven—Prim hit the nail on that one—and the kind smile of the man who welcomed them in, it was cozy. 

Primrose was always more vocal than her sister was, the moan humming in her throat as her eyes fluttered closed. “It smells so good in here,” she sang, momentarily forgetting the cakes. 

Katniss felt her cheeks redden on behalf of her unashamed sister as the older man beamed, the skin around his blue eyes crinkling as he folded his hands. “You must be smelling the cheese buns,” his voice was soft. “They’re the best sellers.” He quirked a bushy blond brow. “Although, I have to say, everyone in this town knows that.” 

Prim matched him, leaning against the counter. “Oh, we’re new here. We just moved in today,” she absentmindedly chirped. Behind her, Katniss rolled her eyes. Ever the talker, her sister was. “I’m Prim and that’s,” she pointed dismissively over her shoulder, “Katniss.” 

The man stood up a little straighter and widened his smile, a feat Katniss didn’t know was possible. “Well, welcome to Panem, girls. I’m Aaron Mellark.” 

Katniss busied herself taking in all the breaded inventory as the exchange continued. She had never seen so many pastries in her life, and couldn’t name half of them.

“Katniss,” Prim was saddled up next to her, bringing her back to the present. In her hands a bag of steaming treats. “Mr. Mellark gave us free dinner!”

The older girl furrowed her brows, chancing a glance back at the counter where Mr. Mellark was organizing something. 

“Sir,” he wiped his hands on his apron and looked at Katniss, who waved the money her mother had given her. “We have money to pay, we couldn’t possibly accept—”

He waved her hand away good-naturedly. “Nonsense, I insist. Please.” 

Katniss bit her lip, reluctantly pushing the bills deeper into her pocket before mumbling her thanks, barely audible. 

“Thank you again!” Primrose shouted before leading her sister out back to the pavement. 

“You need to work on that,” Prim said, digging through the bag and taking a pastry, marveling at just how many the kind Mr. Mellark had given them. 

Katniss scrunched her nose. “Work on what?” She asked, moaning a bit when she bit into her own cheese bun. Okay, maybe just this once she could let him be nice to them and give them a free meal. Just this once. 

Prim rolled her eyes. “Your southern hospitality, or whatever they call it here.” 

It had slowed down the darker the evening got, and Katniss twirled ridiculously, pausing in short to curtsy in front of Prim earning her a giggle. “Pardon me ma’am,” her tone took on that of a 1940’s Kentucky housewife. “I  _ am  _ still learning the ins and outs of the debutante.” 

“You sound crazy,” said Prim. 

“Yes, she does,” clucked another. 

Katniss composed herself to meet the man behind her who looked like he was dipped in a vat of melted bronze. She gripped the bag tighter. 

“I hope we don’t all sound like that,” the bronzed man smirked. His entourage, a brown skinned man and a blonde girl stifled their giggles while Katniss flushed ready to make a break for it. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you thought we did,” she smiled kindly before offering a hand to which Katniss took. “I’m Madge. The Greek Adonis here is Finnick, and that’s Thresh.” 

Prim kicked her heel forcing her to speak. “Katniss.” 

“And I’m Prim,” her sister beamed. “We’re new here.” 

Madge ruffled the girl’s hair. “I can see that.” 

Finnick sauntered up closer to Katniss and trailed a hand from her shoulder to her elbow. “Well,” he smirked. “Welcome to Panem.”

Katniss yanked her arm back when his fingers danced on her palm, ushering her sister closer to her. “Thanks.” 

Thresh shot him a look and Madge shoved him behind her before giving Katniss an apologetic smile. “Sorry, we don’t normally let him out of his cage,” she sent a pointed look over her shoulder and Finnick only rolled his eyes. 

Katniss visibly deflated a little, a smile playing on the corner of her lips. “Maybe you need a leash.” 

Madge brightened, snapping her fingers. “That sounds like a great idea, actually.” 

She seemed nice enough, Madge did. The feeling of running away subsided. 

Finnick sucked his teeth and Madge crossed her arms. “You know, I’m having a little get together at my house tomorrow, I’d love it if you both could come.” 

Katniss shifted, opening her mouth before closing it again. She didn’t know these people, even if they seemed nice enough, well, she glanced at Finnick who raised a brow at her before turning crimson and turning away, most of them at least. Making friends wasn’t really at the top of her agenda right now. 

Thresh shrugged. “I have a little sister who’s about Prim’s age who could use another friend.” 

That did it. Prim yanked on her sister’s top so hard, she had to steady herself from toppling over. 

“Uh,” she gently pried the little fingers off of her. “Sure. That’d be...okay.”

Madge fished out her cell phone from her jean skirt as Katniss gave her their number. 

“Perfect,” Madge exclaimed once the exchange was over. 

“Do you live close to here?” Katniss asked just to get a gage of how long they’d have to journey when the blonde girl turned sheepish. 

“It’s the giant white mansion at the edge of town,” Finnick slung an arm over her shoulder. “You can’t miss it.” 

Katniss recalled the little bit of research she had done when she learned of the move and the realization dawned on her. “Are you...Madge  _ Undersee?”  _

“Guilty,” she held up her hands. “But hey, I still expect to see you tomorrow.” 

Before Katniss could protest, someone called out to the trio. 

“Nice to meet you guys!” She called back after her as Thresh and Finnick pulled her to another group of teens further into the square. 

Prim stood starstruck, watching them get smaller. “Does this make us royalty?”

Katniss scrunched her nose before giving her sister a playful thwack on her bum. “Hardly. Come on, it’s getting late.” 

* * *

Katniss rapped on the mahogany double doors before stepping back onto the porch steps. She could practically feel the excited energy of her sister and sent an affirming smile back down although it probably came out as a grimace. 

She wasn’t going to come at first. Finnick’s drawls of a good time were less than convincing and throughout her life, she had become good at making excuses, preferring solitude to that of any new company especially. But what could she have said then to her sister’s imploring eyes? So here she was, at the Mayor’s manor in the calmer end of town. 

Instead of the doors opening, Madge poked her head out from behind the side of the house. “Hey you guys,” she grinned. “We’re out back, you can just come around.” 

Katniss heard Finnick before she could see him. “Hey Kitty,” he demurred, one hand holding a red solo cup, the other intertwined with a curly red-head by the fire. The deck was littered with fairy lights, though they seemed to be turned off. Yet, she could still make out the bronzed-man’s smile in the dark. 

Madge swore as Thresh came over and greeted them, a little girl in tow. She looked like a sparrow in comparison to him. 

“This is my sister, Rue,” he ushered her in front of him. She shyly waved. 

Katniss smiled and nodded to her side. “This is my Prim.” 

“Well ladies,” Madge crossed her arms. “I’ve got some ice cream and a few movies with your names all over them inside.” As if the girls’ brightened faces weren’t enough incentive, the tall blonde slapped her hips. “It’s also almost time for Mr. Bunny to get fed, if y’all are up to it.”

The girls looked up at each other before pleading with their siblings. “Go on,” Katniss laughed and didn’t even finish her acquiescence before they sped past the screen door. 

“You’re spoiling her,” Katniss watched the girls raid the kitchen before disappearing out of her view. 

“Yeah well you should see her with that bunny,” a high voice chirped. The curly-top bumped Madge playfully but she just waved her away before lending a hand to Katniss. 

“I’m Annie,” she said. “And you’re Katniss.” 

The dark haired girl nodded slowly and Annie laughed. “Word gets around fast down here.” Then gestured to Finnick who raised his cup. “Plus, my boyfriend is a terrible gossip.” 

Katniss didn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting up. She couldn’t help it, she was shocked. Certainly from the way he acted towards her, he was a bachelor. Or a stripper, truly, she couldn’t tell which was more fitting. 

Noticing the look in her eyes, Annie laughed again. “Don’t worry, he just  _ acts  _ like an asshole.” 

Katniss nodding unconvincingly. She would take her word for it. 

Madge came back around with two red solo cups. “So your parents just let you do this?” Katniss asked, gratefully accepting a beer and perched herself in one of the seats around the fire pit. It wasn’t the first drink she’d had; there was less to do in her part of PA, but the last time it hadn’t been at one where adults were consenting. 

“Yep,” Madge took a small sip. “They’re just happy that I chose a university less than an hour away as opposed to across the country.”

Finnick chuckled raising his beer in acquiescence. “Here, here.” Annie rolled her eyes from where she was in his lap and looked at Katniss. “Don’t get us wrong,” she reassured. “Panem isn’t all that bad. It’s just…” she played with her hands, trying to find a word. 

“The same,” Thresh deadpanned. 

Annie nodded in a Eureka-like fashion. “When you know everything about everything, and every_body_, it gets pretty old.” 

“But,” Finnick shifted in his seat so his body was facing hers. “We don’t know anything about you.” 

Katniss reddened for a reason she didn’t know, grateful that the dark had already cast the world in indigo and black. 

“Way to ask Finn,” Thresh shook his head. 

“What he means to say,” Annie gently bopped her boyfriend’s head. “Is, tell us a little about yourself Katniss.” 

“Um,” she licked her dry lips. “I don’t know.” 

And she didn’t, truly. The last time she remembered going around in a circle and introducing herself, she was in her senior year of high school and she pretended to have a nosebleed to get out of it. 

“What school do you go to?” Madge kindly pegged. 

It was stupid, for her to feel so inferior by this one question. Because of their predicament after their father dying, college wasn’t on the forefront of her mind as much as surviving the winter was. She’d swapped physics tests for calculating the debt that was owed and bills that needed to be paid off. The only college crewneck she owned was a thrifted sweater that only served the purpose of providing warmth. Maybe once they settled into town more, and security was more than just an empty promise, she would look into taking some classes at the community college. 

“I don’t,” she said at last. “Go to college.” 

No one batted an eye and Finnick shrugged slowly. “To each their own. I personally don’t attend because they don’t have the major I’m interested in.”

Thresh sucked his teeth. “You can’t get a Bachelor’s Degree in sexual healing, Finn.” 

Finnick scowled and downed what was left in his cup.

“Well, what do you like to do for fun,” Annie prodded shooting her boyfriend a look. 

Nature was her abditory. She found solace and comfort in the hidden ways and worlds of the forest. 

“Hunt,” she settled for, circling the rim of her cup with her finger. “Camp outside.” 

The window in her bedroom overlooking the marsh came back to her mind. 

“I was actually thinking of heading into the wildwood and…” she stopped when everyone froze, scrutinized by their incredulous stares. 

“The wildwood?” Madge blinked. “You mean the marsh?”

Katniss shrugged, a little annoyed. What did it matter what they called it down here. The woods were the woods. “Yeah.” 

There was a sudden eye exchange between the four, a secret conversation she wasn’t privy to. If she didn’t feel like an outsider before, she surely felt like one now. 

“Is there something I should know?” She snapped after a few minutes of this. 

Finnick was the first to set his drink down and the rest followed suit before leaning more in to face her. 

“Listen,” He began, the mischief in his words gone. “I’m all for fun and games, but the marsh is nothing to fuck with.”

She searched for Annie’s eyes, hoping that she would put him in his place again, but she was just as serious as he was. It was unsettling.

Katniss put her cup down and drew her knees closer to her. “Why not?”

Thresh answered this time, eyebrows knit together. “Things...happen there, Katniss.”

A chill went down her spine. “What things,” she could scarcely hear her own voice. 

“Creepy things,” Madge shivered. “Weird things.” 

The flames of the bonfire exacerbated everyone’s shadows, elongated their figures in a ghastly manner. The crickets has ceased their playing as if eavesdropping on the conversation, and the only steady noise came from her tapping the lawn chair legs with her toes. 

Katniss wasn’t one to entertain ghost stories. But the look in Madge’s eyes scared her. 

“All I’m saying,” Madge continued. “Is they should have closed that pathway years ago.” 

Katniss’ face must have held some extreme doubt because Annie came over and refilled her drink before sitting down beside her feet. 

“I know this must be weird,” she smiled. “You don’t even know us really, and we’re practically telling you that the woods are haunted. But trust us, you don’t want to explore that area.” 

Whatever had them so spooked didn’t deter her, but she nodded just to placate them. 

Madge clapped her hands together once before standing on her feet. “Well, how’s that for a buzzkill convo?” She smirked at Katniss. “Come on, I’m a champion at beer pong.” 

The rest of the evening went on without a hitch. Shrill laughter coming from inside the house occasionally interrupting their bouts of conversation, and any remnants of previously were forgotten. Despite her social iniquities, she wasn’t a rude guest, and was dutiful in thanking Madge for hosting them all, offering to help clean up some before leaving. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On the walk back home, Katniss kept one ear open for her sister who babbled a mile a minute about how much fun she had had with Rue and Mr.Bunny and the massiveness of the Mayor’s house while the other replayed what her new friends had warned her of. 

She pulled her windbreaker closer to her when the chill ran down her spine again and tilted her head towards the night sky. The moon hung low, suspended in a way that looked strange, like it was crooked behind the clouds. It was a comical fit for this odd town that now had ghost stories to boot. 

She wasn’t a stranger to rumors that befell towns, as old and traditional as the customs of the people, interwoven in the history of the land. It brought some color to an otherwise boring place, she understood. Yet, the way they’d looked at her was off. She internally chuckled, maybe she’d have to keep some sage and garlic in her pocket just in case. 

She would have missed it if her sister hadn’t abruptly stopped her, her face contorted in concentration. 

“Prim—” but her shushing cut her off. 

She tiptoed to the tall grass near a broken fence, leaning her ear in until her eyes widened with surprise. Katniss reached out to stop her when Prim stuck her arms into the bush but stopped when she retracted her arms from the grass, a giant fluff ball sitting in her hands. 

“Primrose!” She hissed, making a move to shoe the thing away but Prim dodged her sister’s advances. 

“Katniss,” she cradled the cat. “He’s scared.”

“He  _ reeks _ ,” Katniss covered her nose with her shirt. “Put him down, you don’t know what he has.” 

To Katniss’ horror, she vehemently clutched the writhing animal closer to her. “We  _ have  _ to take him home with us!” 

If the stench wasn’t bad enough, the cat was the most hideous thing she’d ever seen. Scrawny in all the wrong places, and round in ways that didn’t make sense, tufts of matted mis-matched, vomit colored fur lined half of him. It looked like it didn’t know what to do, make a break for it or stay, its eyes darting around. 

“We are not taking him home,” Katniss said in a voice that left no room for discussion. “Now put him down.” 

Prim shrunk then. “I just wanted another friend,” she whispered to herself, which of course ripped a hole in her sister’s heart.

She surveyed the animal again, silent now, its face settled in Prim’s little palm. Katniss swore, shaking her head. They’d never even had an actual animal, well one that she didn’t skin and put into stew for their dinner. Prim didn’t even know how to take care of a pet.  _ She couldn’t, she couldn’t— _

“When mom asks it was your idea,” Katniss wagged a finger at her sister, and irritated at herself that this little girl could break any of her stern resolve. “And I am not giving him a bath.”

“Deal!” Prim cheered, squeezing the air out of the animal as they resumed their walk home. 

“I think I’ll name him Buttercup.”

“As long as he  _ smells  _ like it.”

* * *

Katniss readjusted the brown paper bags in her arms for the umpteenth time, craning her neck to see in front of her as she walked down the street. She definitely should not have grabbed that extra carton of milk on her way out of the market, but she figured Prim would need it for the stupid cat. Since the rescue, the hideous thing had been a nuisance to Katniss, most likely sensing the hatred she had for it. It nested in one of her t-shirts, clawing it into oblivion, and narrowed its grey eyes into slits, daring her to do something about it. She almost did, and with a broom. 

The wall of bread and warmth wafted up her nose and she didn’t need to see the sign to realize she was nearing the Bakery. Shifting her weight, she pondered the harm a quick bite would do. It had been a few weeks since their last visit, and she could brave a small-talk conversation for cheese buns. 

Plus, the image of the cat pawing at an empty bowl was more than enough to send her inside. 

Mr. Mellark greeted her with a kind smile as he catered to the few patrons in line. She busied herself with the inventory, even though she knew what she would purchase, but there was more variety in the afternoon. Muffins lined the trays under the counter, donuts and chocolate filled croissants. She would have to come back and try other goodies. 

“Katniss,” Mr. Mellark turned to her once the last customer had left. “What can I do for you?”

“I um,” she dodged around the bags, and gratefully smiled once he gestured for her to set them down on the counter. “Just here for some lunch.” 

Mr. Mellark gave her a knowing smile, already opening some parchment and spearing a few cheese buns with a fork. “How many would you like?”

Katniss smiled sheepishly. “Three please.” She was grateful he didn’t ask if they were all for her. 

As he filled the bag with her order, she looked at the gallery on the back wall, the array of frames and photos in grey and in color. Small blonde children caught in a suspended laughter, forever frozen in time. A younger looking Mr. Mellark, with what she proposed was his wife whom was seemingly never in the bakery—though she’d come only twice before—flush against him in a white dress. Their wedding. Towards the right of the collection, in lieu of more frames were medals, tons of them. Sporadically perched along the side. 

“You used to wrestle?” Katniss inquired, making out the small writing on the trophies. 

Mr. Mellark stilled his hands, bunching the parchment. “No,” he said at last before looking up at her with sad eyes. “My son used to.” 

Katniss wilted, mentally kicking herself. Of course the first time she chanced a conversation, in the face of propriety no less, she failed. And she didn’t need to press to understand that something bad had happened to the Baker’s boy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, head bowed. “I didn’t mean to—” 

Mr. Mellark cleared his throat, shaking his head. When he pushed the steaming bag into her hand, his smile was back to its usual self, all traces of despair gone. “It’s nothing at all.”

It clearly  _ was  _ something. Something important, unspoken for a reason, and she felt awful for trespassing on that hidden property. She made a mental reminder never to come back here without Prim who could navigate conversations effortlessly without bringing up pain from the past, and quickly handed him the money that glowed on the register bar before he could protest. 

“Thank you for lunch,” she winced as she piled up her bearings, the bag of buns resting carefully on top. 

“Goodbye Katniss,” Mr. Mellark’s wave was devoid of his cheerfulness she disappeared behind the glass. And when she looked back, he was slumped against the counter. 

* * *

The change in the weather was remarkable and instantaneous. Soft, kind cotton candy clouds turned a defiant charcoal, rollicking and weaving in and out of each other to collect into a blanket of grey. As a result, the hot sun retired for a moment giving Katniss some reprieve as she entered her neighborhood. 

The sudden break in humidity would have been especially welcomed if the wind wasn’t adamant on making the walk home as difficult as possible. It was as if it was calling her, tugging on her braid and whipping it across her cheek more than once and swaying her off the path. She had to hold the bag of buns with her teeth to keep it from blowing away. 

Prim was pacing back and forth at the top of the stairwell when Katniss approached the driveway. “What happened?” She asked her sister as she set the groceries down upon the asphalt. 

Prim was beside herself and shakily pointed towards the ripped screen door. “Buttercup got spooked by the thunder and ran out of the house.” 

Katniss cursed under her breath and followed her sister’s gaze towards the marsh. “How long ago?”

“Just now,” Prim snapped her eyes overhead to the darkness overtaking the blue sky. “But I don’t thin-”

“I’ll be fine,” Katniss reassured her sister eyeing the path through the woodland area. It was clear enough. How hard would it be?

“I don’t know Kat,” the blond girl wrung her hands. “It looks pretty bad out here already.” 

She was right about that. However angry the sky looked along the way, it grew angrier. The wind picking up stray twigs and swirling them around the curb, the first crack and sizzles of the thunder growing more frequent. Katniss decided she could either soothe her terrified sister whose heart was with the ugly feline the entirety of the storm, or solve the issue now. Katniss handed her the bag of cheese buns before double knotting her shoelaces. Better to get it over with quickly. 

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long. Besides, his tracks will be fresher.” 

Prim’s uneasiness spread across her face and settled on the slump of her shoulders as she watched her sister descend down the way. She cupped her hands to yell out that maybe they could wait until the storm passes but Katniss beat her to it with a “I’ll see you soon”. 

* * *

The wind was whipping Katniss like it was punishment for being outside. She wrapped her windbreaker tighter around her, stupefied by the sudden break in humidity that would allow this act. She peered around her through the bunched up hood and swore; nothing looked familiar, and she had lost the path, or more accurately, the path lost her. 

In the beginning it was easy and the wooden poles led straight into the area, but when she tracked the cat’s paw prints into a grassy pit, she followed suit. And now, every single tree looked the exact same. She wouldn’t admit to anything or anyone that she was lost though; that her huntress skills had failed her in this new environment. The marsh was an eerie combination of swampland and dry redland forestry; the brush was thick and made its presence known, dancing every which way and that when the wind touched them. 

Soon, the cracking overhead gave way to a gentle pitter-patter, then to what seemed like a monsoon. Fat water droplets paired with rapid speed clouded her vision instantly, and soon she was stumbling over every which way. 

“Buttercup!” Katniss desperately screamed, her voice drowned out by the thunder and rain. She couldn’t even hear herself think. 

There was no refuge in these woods. The trees had no hollow spots for her to duck in, the ground was too sodden to hoard proper boulders, there wasn’t any shelter. 

“God _dammit_!” Katniss kicked a trunk. “You dumb ass cat where _are _you!?”

And just like that, a miraculous but ever so faint meow came from the brush behind her. 

Katniss forgot herself and leapt towards the sound. She couldn’t see anything at this point and relied on her flailing arms in front of her to break any impending fall.

She wasn’t prepared for this one. 

Her feet met the air and then brutally tucked into her stomach as she slid and rolled against the cliff wall, down. The rocks fell along with her and the thorns were sure to pick at her skin as she tumbled. She tried to stop herself by holding on briefly to long grass, but it was too slippery to hold her grasp and she continued to plummet until she smacked into a small but deep body of water. And as before, the rocks above her followed suit. Katniss dodged the stones falling towards her, and she successfully navigated them away until one landed right on her foot. 

She roared in pain, shakily reaching down into the water to yank her foot from under, unsuccessfully. The rock was lodged against the others and there was no space to pull her leg out. 

Around her, the rain poured into the tiny nature-made well and she realized what would happen if she didn’t soon release her foot. 

“Help!” Katniss screeched, panic so evidently laced in her voice. “Someone help me,  _ please _ !” 

There was no way anyone would find her so deep out here. The water was rising, and her yells turned into gargling as she forced her chin above the water. Her fear manifested into sobs. This is how she would die, she thought, drowned and alone looking for the ugliest cat she had ever seen. 

Katniss closed her eyes and tried to recite a prayer before the water completely overtook her. She struggled to remember any of the ones that had been ingrained in her at little Baptist church she had gone to as a child, so she just asked the Lord to send her an angel. 

“Please God,” she whimpered, sputtering out water. “Just one.” And with a somber Amen, Katniss shut her eyes to brace the impact of what a watery death might feel like, but just as the water reached her nose, she felt a sharp whack on her ear. 

Grimacing she saw the butt of a wooden stick and wisps of golden hair. Was this the angel she had prayed for? 

“Grab on!” The man yelled. Katniss shook herself out of her shocked stupor and reached as high as her arms could go gripping the end of the stick. “I’m going to pull you up!” Even with the rushing waters and her heart pounding, she could hear his voice, soft yet firm. 

The man grunted as he pulled against the ground and Katniss didn’t let up on her grasp, but it was no use, she was pulled back against the rocks under the water. 

“My foot,” Katniss stood on the top of her toes now, head barely above the water. “It’s stuck under the rock! I can’t—it won’t—” 

Before she could end her panicked sentence, the golden haired man plopped right into the water beside her. Fingers sliding around her laces before her sock met the water and her leg was lighter, the foot free.

He scooped her up and tread the water where Katniss tried to help swim them along, but her arms were heavy, lazily hitting the water. And as they broke through the surface together Katniss sputtered and coughed, the ache in her foot reverberated to every other part of her body 

But. She was alive. She was  _ alive _ . 

Her head was pounding and she winced as she touched her forehead to find blood on her fingertips.

And then the world was black. 

* * *

The ache in Katniss’ head mirrored the stream that almost carried her to her death. It ebbed in circular motions, swirling deep into the base of her spine and up and through her hand. Nevertheless, she followed the path with her fingers and it lead her to thick gauze at her temple. She slowly sat up and surveyed the rest of the damage: a splint on her fingers, padding on her side. Her ankle elevated. 

“Katniss!” Prim scurried in the hospital room; her grin was brighter than the fluorescent white lights overhead. “You’re awake!”

The older girl smiled as best she could, though she was sure it came out more as a grimace welcoming her with a grunt as her sister attacked her bad side. 

“Sorry,” Prim sheepishly smiled, not relenting her grip. 

Her mother came in next, cup of coffee in hand. No amount of caffeine could wipe away that crease that stayed stagnant on her forehead. 

“How are you feeling, honey?” 

_ Like shit,  _ she’d wanted to say. “I’ve been better,” she croaked instead. “What happened…” she trailed off, but her memory came back like a flood, answering her own question. 

Buttercup. The storm. 

Mrs. Everdeen rested her hand over Katniss’. “We found you at the start of the path. You were pretty beat up.” 

Katniss furrowed her brows, wincing when even that hurt. “Wait, at the start of what path? The one leading into the marsh?” 

Their mother nodded. “Buttercup was clawing at the front door and sure enough you were sprawled out.” 

Katniss used the sides of the cot as leverage to hoist herself up. “No, no. I fell, I slid into a ravine.” Her eyes went wide as she recalled the Cherub stranger pulling her to safety onto the shore, holding onto his pale hand. “My foot was stuck, someone saved me, he pulled me out.” 

The nurse and her mother exchanged a knowing and concerned look before she excused herself and her mother scooted closer. 

“I passed out there,” Katniss whispered distantly. “He must’ve carried me or something.” 

She could still feel the dampness of the soil on her jeans, the smell of the mulch lingering in her nostrils. The heat and firmness of asphalt wasn’t something that rang a bell.

Mrs. Everdeen smiled softly, her lips pressed together. “Sweetie,” she started slowly, “there wasn’t anyone around when we found you. And there’s only one way safely into the marsh and out.” 

Prim climbed up onto the cot and laid her head under her sister’s as her mom leaned closer in. “You had a pretty bad head injury, maybe—”

“You think I’m making this up?” Katniss snapped, eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m telling you, mom, someone was there.” 

Mrs. Everdeen bit the corner of her lip, staring intently at her daughter before moving her hands to her lap. “I’m just glad you’re safe. That’s all that matters.” 

Katniss could have picked a fight with her mother in that moment; it seemed that they were overdue for one, but she didn’t have the energy for it. Not now. There was a knock at the door, and as the Doctor entered, rattling off the list of things to watch for after discharging, Katniss tuned him out, thinking about the golden stranger in the woods instead.

He was real, she was sure of it. 

And she’d prove it. 

* * *

In the days that came after her near-death experience, she found a steady routine: spend time with Prim, get her strength up, stop by the town center, go to the Bakery, and cross past the entrance of the marsh near the house. She’d occasionally pause, warily looking in. Longing for...what? She didn’t know. An explanation of who her savior was and why he was there in that moment to help her. Nevertheless, she would not tell another soul of what transpired there including her friends who showed up to her hospital door the same day. 

She’d grumbled; it truly was a small town. 

When they’d asked her what had happened, she lied. “ _ I twisted my ankle running, _ ” she’d shrugged. Easier for people to think that she was clumsy instead of crazy. And she wouldn’t ever admit that they were right about the dangers in the wood. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

Her mother had hovered in the corner and Katniss clenched her jaw under her scrutiny. She would never mention the stranger again out loud, no, yet she couldn’t shake the realism of it all. No hallucination had gripped her slippery hands, had saved her from rushing waters. No imagination had looked into her eyes like he had. It didn’t make sense. 

June bled quietly into July and the humidity also followed suit. It trekked its way through the neighborhood and settled one particular day onto the cupid’s bow of Katniss who gingerly wiped the condensation off before rapping at the Mayor’s front doors. 

In pursuit of moving on from that moment in the marsh, she delved into the normalcy of her new Louisiana life, part of which included hanging out with her new friends. It was still new to her, the process of taking without expecting to give something in return but one’s company, but she was learning. And when Madge invited her over to help prepare for the Fourth of July activities, she accepted. 

The double doors opened to a smiling Madge. “Come on in,” she grabbed ahold of Katniss’ hand and led her up a case of spiral stairs. 

Katniss had never been inside of the Mayoral home but it was everything she had expected. White walls and pastel picture frames lining the rims of the window panes, everything was coated in tradition and propriety, it seemed. She felt like she was in the dollhouse of a politician. And essentially, she was. 

“Yeah, kind of looks like one, huh? It’s pretty dainty,” chuckled Madge. 

_ Shit. _ She had spoken aloud. “I’m— 

Madge waved off any apology that was coming and walked over to the lever at the top of the staircase. She gave Katniss a smirk before pulling it down and Katniss jumped at the sound of the ladder fell with a rusted sigh. 

“My dad wanted us to get some old newspapers ready for the Panem’s historical exhibition next week,” her arms reached up to brace herself as she climbed up to the top, her head disappearing. “Think you can handle it?” 

The stench of granny candies and mold greeted her as she climbed up after Madge, only intensifying as the door opened with a steady creak. The tiny space was illuminated by one stray circular window, shedding light on the graveyard of miscellaneous items. A toddler toy car here, an ancient ivory vanity there, boxes of all sizes scattered every else. 

Madge crawled in, swatting the dust particles that flew through the air. “I keep telling my dad to move this stuff to the garage,” she picked up a limp stuffed animal and tossed it in disgust when termites sprouted through the seams. “This place is gross.” 

Through Katniss didn’t care too much for the scent, she didn’t hate the space. At their old house up north, they’d had an attic too. And though it wasn’t as neglected as this one, she found its presence endearing. A place full of tangible memories, a graveyard of moments. 

“I don’t mind it,” she echoed her thoughts, sitting down and stretching out her ankle.

Madge gave her a look before perusing through the boxes, humming satisfactorily at an especially tattered one before pushing it over to Katniss. “Bingo.”

“We don’t need a ton,” Madge said, leafing through the articles once the box was open. 

Katniss had a steady pile of Panem victories and prominence. The state’s biggest gator caught in 1972, the opening of the new church at the time in 2002. The highlights of a tiny town that made its inhabitants proud. She stopped, however, at an incomplete newspaper, the first one she’d come across. 

“What’s this?” Katniss unfolded the article, straightening out the edges on the dusty floorboards. “ _ Mellark Boy Missing. 1989 _ ,” she read slowly. 

Madge frowned knowingly. “Yeah...Mr. Mellark’s son. He disappeared one day, just out of the blue.” 

Katniss’ face blanched in shock before she closed her eyes in humiliation. She was so  _ stupid _ recalling how she’d inadvertently quizzed the baker on his missing child. She bit her lip, searching the front page of the paper, and running a finger along the jagged edges. The photo had been ripped out.

“Disappeared,” she echoed hollowly. 

Madge snapped before mimicking a  _ poof _ with her hands. “Without a trace.” 

Katniss couldn’t believe something so sinister had taken place in this town, and shuddered making a mental note to warn Prim to be more careful. 

“It was obviously way before our time,” Madge continued on. “But my parents say it totally rocked the entire town. Mr. Mellark almost went crazy searching for him, but it’s still a mystery.” Then she made a face. “Kind of freaky when you think about it.” 

All Katniss could do was nod dumbly as she watched her friend stand up and dust off her tights—which Katniss couldn’t even  _ believe  _ that she was wearing in July. “Come on, I think that’s enough history for one day. Lunch?”

Remembering herself, Katniss nodded, sliding the article into her back pocket once Madge turned around. 

“Lunch.” 

* * *

She didn’t know what she was doing. 

It was a face-off. Her and the woods. Grey eyes to olive moss, weathered brown trunks. Sighing she shook her head, making sure there was no one around again. The heels of her sneakers dug into the pavement and she was sure there would be a hole from how long she was standing at the entrance of the marsh. 

This was her only chance, she’d figured. Prim was at Thresh’s house with Rue and their mother was pulling a double shift at work. The house was more silent than her mind was, the questions still circling her brain. A trip down the path would dispel them, she’d thought. If she could only bring herself to just  _ go.  _

Exasperated she threw up her hands and stalked off only to stop herself short, trudging back to the opening, arms crossed. She didn’t even know what she was looking for, or what this bit of nature could offer her. With a self-deprecating laugh, she spun around again towards her street. This was stupid.  _ She  _ was stupid. A waste of her time. She growled, disturbing a flock of birds that settled on the cable lines. So why couldn’t she bring herself to leave? 

“ _ Go _ , Katniss,” she willed herself gnawing at her lip. “Go,” she repeated with more confidence this time. A few steps closer than she’d been before. Clenching her fists, she pumped them as she sped down the path all at once, only stopping right where the asphalt bled into the soil ending the man-made entry. 

To think that this was the place that trapped her was embarrassing. It was a cacophony of backyard sounds; crickets and frogs humming through the brush, nothing too unfamiliar to her damaged senses. Then there was the wetness that hung heavy still, even in this place, that made the woodland look forlorn. Like it was holding in a secret or missing someone special. Did the weeping willows know the mystery she was trying to solve? Did they send him to her in a time of desperation? 

Yet Katniss knew that appearances were deceiving. 

She went to speak and hesitated.

“Hello?” Her voice did not echo. It stopped short before the vines and spurred a new wave of bullfrog banter. She bit her lip and shifted her weight onto the leg with the ankle brace. 

“Sir,” she breathed, uncertainty tinged in the word. “Are you here?”

Nothing. Nothing at all. 

She spun on her bruised heels. This was so so stupid. 

“How’s your foot?”

He had appeared out of thin air, it seemed. Comprised of the particles of the swamp that dusted the air in the light. As soft as the weeds, he spoke. 

Paralyzed, she didn’t turn around immediately. “Fine,” her lips moved of their own accord. She couldn’t feel them. She pretended to focus on the ant crawling up the side of her converse. 

“And your head?” 

“...fine.”

The man laughed softly. It was a stunning sound. 

“Well I’m glad that you’re fine,” she could hear the smile in his voice, and the crunch of the leaves as he took a step away. 

It was now or never. Katniss spun around. Whatever words she was going to say died on her tongue as her grey irises met his blue orbs. He was fully in front of her now, and was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. It was as if the dawn was presenting him to her, the way the light sat on his shoulders and outlined his stocky build. Clung to the platinum curls at the base of his neck that grew like a bush-field upon his head. He was real, she fucking knew it. 

Perhaps the silence grew to be too much because he cleared his throat and It was only when he turned to leave did Katniss notice that he was holding a wooden crutch. His jeans covered whatever injury he had to his leg. “Don’t come this deep again. It’s dangerous.” 

“But,” her words held him in place. “You’re here.” 

It was haughty to say, and a little rude, but he chuckled all the same. 

“Exactly.” 

She curled the end of her braid, increasingly uncomfortable at the silence. He must have sensed this because he nodded his head at her once and trekked down the way. Katniss panicked as his form receded; was this all she came to say? No... _ No.  _

“ _ Thank you _ ,” she harshly whispered to herself, remembering the purpose of even coming here in the first place.  _ So fucking stupid.  _ “I-I um,” she yelled after him, gulping when he caught her eyes again. “I wanted to thank you! For saving me. Thank you...,” she finished lamely. 

He watched her for a while before nodding. “You’re welcome.” 

It didn’t hit her until she turned around to walk back that she was not satisfied, the conversation surfacing more questions than before. How did he find her, or even hear her? And why did he leave her at the footpath near town instead of bringing her himself? Who was he? 

In two strides, she was back down to where she’d seen him just a moment ago, but the brush held not a trace of him.

He was gone. 

* * *

It was unbearably humid that day. 

She couldn’t stay one minute longer in her house or in her bed. The air condition was nice but the boredom and the questions flushed her more than the heat did. It wasn’t like she didn’t try to distract herself; the many magazines Prim had brought up to her laid open on her sheets. She’d even binged an entire season of  _ Gilmore Girls,  _ but when her mother had come in good-naturedly asking about Rory’s love interest, she couldn’t even answer her because she hadn’t paid attention enough. And as soon as Mrs. Everdeen left for work—basically thrown at the door by Katniss insisting that some alone time would be good for her and that  _ yes _ she’d be fine—Katniss took the house keys and half-limped, half-run out into the marsh. 

She’d dipped her hands into the stream only a little ways away from the entrance and let the remnants of the water drip down her face, under the neck of her dress. Though the water was only tepid, the relief was imminent and she could have moaned when someone came up behind her. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” a familiar voice pressed, tinged with exhaustion. 

Biting her lip to calm herself, she slowly turned, arms crossed. He was in the same outfit as before, the crutch resting under his forearm. It was weird how she didn’t hear him creep up but that wasn’t the puzzle she was apt to solve. 

“Who are you?” she wasted no time. “And how did you find me?”

She thought he would be taken aback by the attack but he stayed perfectly calm. 

“I saw you fall in,” he replied evenly. “I was around.” 

Katniss peered around the area, and only then was she able to just make out the immediate brush around her. The marshland was a vast expanse of swamp, the chance that he had been there in her exact moment of need was slim. It was impossible. 

“You didn’t answer my other question,” she countered. “Who are you?”

“I could be a serial killer, you know,” he quipped, frustration laced in the rebuttal. 

“But you’re not.” 

“How do you know?” 

“You saved my life,” she said carefully, before taking on a playful tone. “It’d be an interesting paradox, don’t you think?"

The man gave her a hard stare, but the amusement playing at his lips betrayed him. And Katniss took this break in their banter to stick out her hand. 

“I’m Katniss,” she averted her eyes as he enveloped her little hand in his large one. They were surprisingly soft for someone who spent so much time in this marshland. 

“Pete,” he gripped his crutch tighter instead of moving to shake her hand. “And I meant what I said the other day. You shouldn’t be here.”

Katniss scowled, her hand falling limply at her side. The indication that she couldn’t take care of herself was so irritating, a crimson wave creeped up her neck. “It seems like you’re unscathed. And you seem to be here all the time. Do you live around here?” 

The expression on his face was unreadable. “Something like that.” 

“Are you from town?” She prompted after a moment. 

He chuckled lowly. “Something like that,” he repeated. 

Ever the jester, he was. Her frustration with him was growing and she looked within herself to find the source of  _ why she kept fucking coming back in the first place _ . She proved to herself that he was real, that she wasn’t making it up, and that should have been enough. 

Straightening her skirt, she pursed her lips. “I’m sorry I came,” she was barely audible. The underlying layer of shame quieting her even more. “I won’t bother you again.” 

She didn’t anticipate the soft hand on hers when she made a move to leave. He was closer than he’d ever been. The expression on his face was indecipherable but it was strange, nevertheless, the line between his eyebrows waned, and he deflated. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being rude,” he frowned. 

She chewed her lip at his sudden change of demeanor.

“I am from town, but I moved out here when my family moved away.”

She gave him a once over, and he didn’t seem much older than she was, really. Why would someone so young not move with his family and instead, choose to live out here in the woods. She eyed his crutch again. Especially in that predicament. Surely the roots would have caught the base of the stick every time he walked. 

“How do you get supplies,” she wondered. There was only so much a person could forage from the woods, and toiletries were not one of them. Neither was food, really. She remembered Madge telling her how the marsh was virtually uninhabitable.  _ Unless you’re an amphibian _ , she’d quipped. 

He looked away. “I was actually going to ask you about that.”

His eyes were angry for a moment, but when he turned back to look at her, the warmth returned. 

“I had someone, a friend, who helped get things for me from town to my cabin here.” 

“Cabin?” There wasn’t any shelter where she could see. 

“It’s just down that way.” He pointed to a collection of willows, but it must have led to some obscure path.

He nodded to his leg, but he didn’t have to. It wasn’t exactly a secret. “It’s difficult for me to get in and out. And he...left.” 

She figured to what he was alluding to. He wanted her to help him, and that meant coming to the marsh more frequently now. Alone. Katniss wrung her hands, it wasn’t that he appeared scary or killer-esque. She wasn’t afraid of him, she’d made that clear. She just...she didn’t actually know. He still dodged the questions she threw at him for whatever reason. Maybe she could get some more information out of him yet. 

“Look,” she feigned exhaustion. “I’m sure that if you told the mayor he could figure something out—”

The horror on his face silenced her before the barking. “No! No one can know I’m here,” he composed himself, raking a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s...it’s against the law to live out here.” 

Katniss stepped forward. “So why don’t you live in town?” 

“I belong here,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

She softened, understanding that. This was his own abditory. Who was she to judge that, or take it away? 

Peeta sighed. “I wouldn’t need a lot of help. Just a few supply runs every few days.” And when she didn’t speak, he looked down. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything.” 

Katniss of all people knew that was not true. Some measly groceries were not a huge price to pay for her life. She could do this small thing. She  _ would  _ do this. 

“Yes, I do,” she whispered before stalking off. 

* * *

She had outdone herself this time, truly. The trail of orange and blue dripping down her shorts was proof. 

Katniss cursed, bounding down the path to the cabin, leaking bags in her arms, cupping her hands to try and retain  _ some _ of the spilled paint. She should have double bagged it like she’d always done, but she was in a rush. She was late. He would probably laugh at her multicolored state, but she didn’t want to keep him waiting again. 

It had been awkward the first time. All of the confidence she’d had when confronting him in the beginning subsided when quietly took the few and aged and dirty dollar bills he handed her in exchange for a simple paintbrush. It was simple enough, and she granted him his request. Until the following week, when he ordered exactly three cans of beans and orange paint. 

“Not too bright,” he’d told her when she asked the shade. “More like sunset.” 

He had given her a quick thanks before she was off. 

The next time, she offered to help him carry the bags to his cabin, watching him struggle with two bags of new supplies. She wondered how he’d done it before with his crutch. She’d eased into his touch when he transferred the items to his arms and they both smiled as he led the way to his abode. And though he grew uncomfortable when she proposed to enter and place the items directly inside for him, she was fine with it. 

The prolonged silences stretched to pleasantries and then soon she was learning things about him. That he was a painter. A baker. Liked to sleep with his windows open. The collection of vintage sneakers outside the door were all double knotted, as were the ones on him. And when she purchased tea, he refused outright any cream or sugar. 

She had first caught sight of his drawings when she crept up on him by their usual meeting place at the stream. The gushing waters loud enough to disguise her footprints as she came up behind him lazily sketching a figure of a woman, she couldn’t make out. 

A misstep over branch gave her away, and he jumped flipping the paper over as he sheepishly met her eyes. 

“Can I see?” She asked softly leaning in closer anyways. 

He rose to his feet, still hiding the drawing out of view. “Um,” he rubbed his neck. “It’s not very good.” 

“Considering I can’t even draw a stick figure, I’m not one to judge,” she smiled and he laughed at that, slowly handing her his piece. 

It was stupid how good the simple charcoal sketch was. She straightened it on her thighs, entranced at the grooves and ridges of the figure. She couldn’t place where he started the sketch and where he ended it; like this woman had always been on the paper. 

“This is beautiful,” she breathed and he changed the subject, but she caught the pleased smile on his face before. 

She confided in him and told him about her little sister, about her mother and how her father had died in the coal mines that were supposed to sustain them. She talked to him about the hardship that life was after and why they’d ultimately moved. He told her about his own father, the best cook in his family, and his time in school. How they’d both built this cabin long before the laws keeping them out of the marsh, and how he had come there to just get away for some moments. 

He also, quietly, talked about the car accident. A drunken friend who lost his life, and Pete who lost his leg. She hadn’t asked him anymore about it. 

Then there were touches. A hand on the small of his back to guide his walk. An arm over her shoulder. Heads leaned against each other. All chaste, all kind. All welcomed. But she didn’t pretend not to feel the heat his fingers always left behind. 

And then it was the fourth week where he had only asked her for some more orange paint. He’d asked for that color a lot, but he told her it was the only color he couldn’t make out of the foliage and berries in the wood. 

She tripped on her way over and the paint went sprawling all over the ground and all over her, she didn’t check the contents of what remained before sprinting down the cabin hoping it wasn’t for naught. Pete said he needed to work on a special piece that day, and he needed her inside the cabin. 

To say she excited was an understatement, and the misfortune of her mess didn’t quell that as she pushed open the wooden door with her only dry shoulder, dropping the bags on the floor. It looked like she had walked into an episode of Stranger Things, just with way less of a budget.  _ Way _ less. Sheets of all colors draped the two windows and the walls, a small hearth in one corner, and velvet on the few pieces of furniture littered around the room. 

“Is this Titanic?” Katniss pondered and a snicker drew her attention behind her where Pete sat mashing something dark into a bowl. 

“Only if I get to be Leonardo DiCaprio,” he beamed and she rolled her eyes, the smile growing on her own lips before drawing a nearby tapestry around her shoulders. Cocking her head and pursing her lips she froze, “draw me like one of your French girls, Jack,” she whispered sultrily.

Pete laughed. “Okay, then. Take off your clothes.” 

Katniss’ cheeks flushed as she let the tapestry go limp. Pete sputtered, “uh, I was just k-kidding.” 

He nodded to her shorts. “It looks like you need a new pair anyway,” he chuckled, throwing her a rag. 

Katniss let out nervous laughter, wiping at herself. 

“But I do need you to have a seat,” he gestured at the stool on his right. 

Katniss hesitated. “I’m not model-worthy, Pete.” 

He looked at her then, eyes glimmering. “Are you insane? You’re…” he shook his head. “Sit.” 

She reluctantly obliged. “How do you want me to pose,” she was shy now. 

Behind the easel, he made out his shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever’s most comfortable for you.” 

She posed how she knew, leaning against the windowsill. Rough fingers, paper and scratching filled the air, the only sound and she was lost in it. 

When she looked up, his eyes met hers. Hands still. 

“Are you finished?” She found her voice. 

He turned the easel around and her breath caught.

Katniss never truly had the time to ponder about her own beauty. Sure, since she was a teen, there were times she’d stand in front of the mirror, frowning at a wayward zit, tufts of hair that wouldn’t cooperate within her braid, holes in the hand-me-down clothing. But otherwise, she didn’t… But as she looked at the portrait Peeta had drawn of her, there was no way it could have been her. The woman in painting was relaxed, lips painted pink, skin like dampened tea bags, eyes silver and sharp. She was piercing. 

“Is that what I look like to you?” She whispered, a finger trailing the outline of her hair. 

“Katniss,” he looked confused. “That’s how you look.” 

When she shook her head again, he stood, his full height towering her with every step, the crutch’s clacks deafening in the silence of the dusk. She closed her eyes, but his clammy palms cupped her face and angled it upwards. 

“Katniss,” he breathed, thumbing her eyelashes until she opened them. 

And he pressed his lips to hers. 

* * *

“One more box coming up!” 

Katniss balanced herself before lowering an arm to receive the parcel of papers then placed them beside her where she squatted in the attic. 

She wouldn’t have been a good friend not to offer to pack up the remnants of the celebration earlier in the month. The party went off without a hitch. Prim was besought with the 18th century ladies’ fashion exhibition right before tugging her older sister out to the square to watch the fireworks light up the sky. She had wondered, as the reds and blues and oranges casted shadows down at them, if Pete was watching them too. 

Blushing, she bit her lip to hide the smile from her friend. He was all she could think about lately, well, after he’d kissed her a couple of days ago. She felt like a giddy school girl ever since that day, but it didn’t change their dynamic so much, truly. It just felt...right. They’d continued spending time with each other, but the stolen kisses were definitely a bonus. 

The slapping of skin below her caught her attention as she peered down to find Madge face-palming herself. “I forgot there’s another box in my dad’s office,” she descended the ladder. “Be right back!” 

Katniss picked off some dust bunnies off her shorts before shielding her eyes away from the sudden glint that shone in the corner of the room. Crawling over to the source, she picked up a golden frame, tinged with rust. 

She toyed with the lock on the frame until it opened and she slid the picture out. Even with the protection of the glass, the image was difficult to decipher under all of the soot. But one rub on her knobby knees, and it was unmistakable.

Even in the grey, his curls were bright, eyes even brighter. The same crinkle in the corners. Dimples like chasms, and the glistening of his pearly whites. 

Katniss stumbled back like she’d been struck. 

“M-Madge, who is this?” There was a tremor in her shout as her friend’s footsteps grew closer and she shoved the picture down past her feet. 

The mayor’s daughter peered over the ladder; her squinty eyes giving way to solemn ones. “That’s him.” 

“Who?”

“The baker’s son. Peeta.”    
  


* * *

**END OF PART I **

* * *

  
  
  
  



	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A special thank you to Spoonlicker who acted as my last minute beta and help. All my gratitude to you xx

Katniss could only register one thing, the cold sharp frame of the photo that was her proof under her shirt as she ran. Otherwise, if she focused on anything else, or gave into any other emotion and opened the floodgates of questions stirring in her head, she would go ballistic. She was sure of it. Her ankle throbbing in time with her heart which drummed at such a pace against her ribcage, she was sure it would fall out of her. At least, she had hoped it would.

The terror, cold and sudden set in when she saw him, seated among the leaves so calmly.

If it wasn’t her hurried breaths that gave her away, it must have been the rushing sound of her blood. It filled her own ears, surely he had heard it too, because he turned his head to face her.

“Oh good,” he smiled reaching for his crutch to stand. “I was looking to ….” he stopped when he noticed her fierce expression.

“Who are you,” she punctuated each word with a vicious breath. They were back to the beginning. Questions and games, confusion and lies.

Pete furrowed his brows and took a step closer only to stop when she took two steps back. “Katniss…what...”

She pulled the sticky-with-sweat photograph from under her shirt, the frame landing with a thud as she tossed it at his feet. His face was laced with confusion before his lips went slack.

“Who are you?” she asked again, the desperation so thick in her throat she couldn’t swallow.

She had never seen someone so sad, so much hurt in their eyes. He opened his mouth multiple times but nothing came out.

“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he said finally, looking like he was going to pass out from the way he was leaning onto the cane, “not like this.”

“I’m not an idiot, _Peeta_,” she stressed his actual name.

“Please, let me explain,” he reached out for her hand.

But he had ample opportunities to explain. Weeks of opportunities to. She didn’t want to hear his excuses, and she didn’t care to entertain any more of this.

“You’re a liar,” she swatted it away. “And you abandoned your family.” She thought of Mr. Mellark, how sullen he had been in the bakery at the mere mention of anything that pertained to his only child. “Your dad has been looking for you for years. And I’m telling him the truth.”

She’d never seen him move so fast, the crutch gave way and he fell to his knees. She resisted the imminent urge to help him up. “Katniss, you don’t understand,” he choked. “You can’t tell anyone that—”

“That what? That you’re here?”

He closed his eyes. “I’m not. Not really.”

What did that even _mean_?

Her nostrils flared. “Listen I—”

He raised his hands. “I need to show you something...please. It’ll explain everything.”

If it weren’t for the genuine hurt across his face, she would have left then and not looked back. But she would grant him this last chance. Just one.

“Trust me. Just one more time. And then you can leave,” he reached out a hand again but returned it to his side just as quickly. “Just come with me.”

* * *

Katniss didn’t know how long she’d been trailing behind Peeta for but along the way she lost her windbreaker and the strands from her braid had come loose in the humidity. He was a good four feet ahead of her, whether it was the fear or the secrets, she didn’t know, but it was good that he was. She didn’t trust him anymore.

She was sure the exertion had to be hard on him, and she hated that she even cared, but it would take more than a lie—however gigantic it was—to erase what she felt for him.

A vine swung low and she yanked it out of her way, stopping short right behind Peeta whose head hung just as low. He refused to meet her eyes before leaning his crutch against the nearest trunk and crouching down among a pile of large leaves.

“I had never seen a more beautiful bird in my life,” he started softly staring off. Katniss stood silent and confused, holding herself up by her elbows.

“It was orange,” he chuckled darkly. “And I thought to myself, maybe if I waited here, with my paint and easel, that I could catch it still enough to draw.”

He was babbling nonsense but Katniss still stayed.

Peeta hovered over the ditch of leaves before removing them one by one until…

“And that’s the last thing I remember,” he whispered.

-  
-  
-

When Katniss was 6 years old, she was separated while hunting with her father in the Pennsylvania woods. She had wandered too far chasing a butterfly she had never seen before and sure enough realized she was in a place she had never seen before.

Dusk had come long ago and evening crept on as little Katniss waited for her father and suddenly a set of glowing eyes appeared. As small as she was, she knew the animal from the books her parents read her and so she shut her eyes, hoping that if she couldn’t see, the creature couldn’t see her.

She remembers when she felt it approach her. Heard its low purr and its hot breath as it circled her. And never before had she experienced true fear like that. It was paralyzing and quaking all at the same time. Her shallow breaths weren’t enough to calm her. And though her father swooped in and saved the day, just as he always had, that feeling was one she was not quick to forget.

This day was the only time she had ever had that feeling again.

She was swimming again. Her senses dulled by the rush of the water. This time, it wasn’t her foot wedged under a boulder, it was her heart, her lungs were on fire.

The scene before her was grotesque. The decay was advanced, the bones protruding, but the clothes, the prosthetic was unmistakable. It was him.

Her head was heavy as she turned to face him, the other him, her mouth sputtered guttural sounds, like a fish out of water. No words came out. No words.

“How,” was the only word she remembered. “How.”

Peeta looked at her so warily. He seemed so tired all of a sudden. So worn. Like time had stretched him thin.

She wrapped her arms around the nearest tree, wood chips digging into her skin, holding her up for leverage.

“My name is Peeta Mellark,” he affirmed. “Son of Aaron Mellark. And I died 30 years ago.”

The dizziness came back like a weight in the back of her head. The imbalance pulled her towards the ground, and something soft held her when she landed into a world of black.

* * *

It was the silence that roused her.

Coming to, she groaned at the remnants of the searing pain that throttled in the back of her head. The quiet meant she was inside, and the mattress that groaned underneath her as she stretched out her limbs confirmed it.

“You’ve got to stop falling like that.”

She whirled around to find him slouched in a chair beside her. It came back to her sooner this time, what had happened, and she backed into the corner of the bed, tattered sheets drawn up over her shoulders. He bowed his head at her reaction, the smile dying on his lips before carefully standing up, using the nearby table instead of the crutch.

“Stay the _HELL_ away from me!” Katniss boomed, eyes crazed. She wished she had a weapon or something just in case because this was just insane. Or maybe she was insane. Was her head injury that bad? She should have paid more attention to the meds she was supposed to take.

“Katniss,” Peeta's wounded voice brought her back.

“This,” her chest heaved. “This is not real. This is _insane_—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He threw his crutch to the corner of the room, disturbing some paintbrushes and rattling her even more so. He tugged on his ears before looking at her again. “Trust me,” he exhaled. “I know.”

It didn’t placate her, his acquiescence of how strange this whole thing was. She didn’t move.

“Thirsty?” He didn’t wait for her to speak before filling a glass somewhere around the corner.

With his back towards her, Katniss glanced around the room. She couldn’t make out a lot in the twilight. She would have left if she knew how to get back from the cabin this late, but she didn’t dare ask him or...it, whatever Peeta was, the way back to the entrance. There was one sole lamp that struggled to shed any light beyond the corner of the table it was sat on, and she sighed in the shadows; retreating back into the pillows once the creaky faucet shut off.

She refused to take the glass when Peeta handed it to her, even though she was parched. She pretended not to notice the flash of hurt in his eyes once he set it down.

He looked human.

How could this be possible? Like, actually possible? He had touched her, held her. Where we walked, leaves crumpled, she’d heard his loud footsteps. He was as real as she was. Tangible. Yet… her stomach churned, envisioning the body he’d revealed earlier.

Pushing herself up onto her knees, all tendrils of fear fueling her power, she reached out for him retracting for a moment when he inched towards her. Exasperated, she sighed and gritted her teeth, forcing the tips of her fingertips to brush his cheek. Flesh. Peeta relaxed into both of her hands as she cushioned his face, then fanned them over his nose. Flesh. His eyes, which fluttered shut as she hovered over his golden lashes, as she palmed his chin and thumbed his chapped lips. Flesh. Flesh. Flesh.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense.

Katniss furiously shook her head before dropping her hands back to her side. “How can I touch you,” she croaked. “I-if you...aren’t…”

Peeta smiled, but there was pain laced in his eyes. “I don’t know.”  
“Do you know how...how?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask him how he had died.

“No,” he frowned. “The last thing I remember was painting, and then I woke up.” He sat back again digging his palms into his eyelids. “I was confused, and I tried to leave the marsh, but I couldn’t. It’s like there’s this wall that I can’t cross.”

She wondered how terrified she would be if she’d gone hunting one day and woke up to her body, the next, and shuddered.

Peeta sighed. “I could hear them calling for me. The search parties and my...dad. And I screamed back but they couldn’t hear me. Or see me.”

“So here you are,” Katniss didn’t know what else to say.

He nodded. “So here I am.”

“How were you able to find me?” She asked after a beat.

“I sensed you,” he laughed lowly. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I felt something was off and then I was there.”

She didn’t tell him that this entire situation was ridiculous.

“Why or how can I see you?” She pressed on.

Peeta shook his head. “Katniss, I don’t know. I don’t know how this works…” he trailed off.

She wasn’t religious, but she did know of the in-between of Heaven and Hell. The Catholic perception of purgatory. Or even then, spirits. Ghouls or ghosts or whatever they’d called them. But even then she wasn’t sure she believed in all of that, well, until now.

“Do you eat?” Katniss asked eyeing the dried fruit on his counter.

Peeta rapidly blinked his eyes, startled at the question. “No. I don’t get hungry.”

“Do you shit?”

“How can I shit if I don’t eat?” Perplexity dazzled his smile.

“So the supply runs?” She asked even though she knew the answer.

His smile morphed into shyness. “Just excuses to speak to you. See you.”

A pause.

She looked out the window at the caterpillar munching a leaf before she turned to him. “What do we do now?”

What did they do now. Casper and the human girl. Real. Not Real. An incomprehensible situation.

Peeta seemed to know the answer though, because his face was harder than she’d ever seen it. “You go back to town. And don’t come back.” He stared intently at the floor. “Pretend I don’t exist, because I don’t.”

She was quiet so he went on.

“It was selfish of me to bring you into this,” he confessed, eyebrows knitted. “I just got...carried away. And you, you’re...I’m sorry.”

She started it, really. She was the one who came back after he had warned her to stay away. She was the one who ventured into the marsh in the first place. It was her fault. And now the feeling of not being able to see him did something to her heart. She wouldn’t allow it.

Katniss threw the covers away and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Well I can’t do that, Peeta.”

His eyes widened in alarm. “Why?”

“Because you do. Exist,” she emphasized. “You’re real to me.”

He was here right in front of her. He was speaking to her and caring for her. He wasn’t a shell of who he used to be, he was the spirit of him. And that was as real as it got, wasn’t it? The thing that stayed immortal.

“I don’t know what to do,” he relented, resting his forehead against hers.

She took his hand. So very real. “So,” she smiled. “We’ll figure it out.”

* * *

As she stood before the little townhouse, she’d realized that her mistake lay in trusting Finnick.

Katniss sighed, surveying the boarded up windows, and the cracks in the concrete holding up the foundation. There was either bird shit or white spray paint in blotches all over and whatever mystery substance got on her shirt would not come off.

She should have known that taking any advice from Finnick would be a risk in and of itself. Annoyed, she shook her head, checking the sticky note once more before shoving it back in her pocket. It could have been a strip club by the way the red velvet sign brokenly blinked _Eferelda’s_.

Madge had shuddered when Katniss had asked, but the bronze-haired man swooped in so quickly, he almost knocked her over from excitement.

“_Effie’s the best_,” he’d pressed the note into her palm. And she was grateful no one had asked why she needed to pay a visit—one of the many perks of being in the Voodoo capital of the country.

A plump elderly lady stumbled out in tears then, wrapping a scarf around her neck to hide her reddened face before angrily rushing past Katniss.

Yep, this was going to be interesting.

“What can I do for you dearie,” a voluptuous voice uttered once she stepped inside, and between the stares of the masks lining every inch of the walls, and the woman covered head to toe with multi-colored feathers whose eyes shined gold through the scarf over her face, she didn’t know what was most disconcerting.

All of the windows were covered by red parchment, casting a fuchsia hue in the dark and Katniss caught the chemise she’d accidentally kicked as she made her way deeper into the room. “Are you Effie?”

The woman took her time coming from around the counter, the beaded curtain pebbling the floor as she walked out of it. “Yes,” she crossed her arms, giving Katniss a one-over. “What do you want?” she asked again.

What could she even say? Hi, my name is Katniss Everdeen, and I’m falling for a fucking ghost who is trapped in the marsh and we need to get him out.

“I need your help,” she settled for.

Effie’s scowl flattened and she pulled up a chair to sit before motioning to Katniss to do the same.

It was quiet for a moment before Katniss realized Effie was waiting for her to talk. “Um,” she cracked her knuckles nervously. “I have a friend who is in a weird situation. And I don’t know how to get him out.”

She laughed, a sharp regal sound. “Nothing I haven’t heard before, dearie.”

“He isn’t,” she lowered her voice. “He isn’t like us. At least not anymore.”

Effie’s confusion was more of an irritation, she impatiently twirled her fingers, like she was casting a spell.

Katniss swallowed, bracing for impact. “He’s dead.”

Effie all but blinked and Katniss wasn’t sure that she’d heard her until she drummed two pink fingernails onto the table. “Your hand,” she demanded.

Katniss obliged and Effie trailed the grooves in her palm before halting. Her pupils dilated, in and out of her alluring facade and the feathers wilted on her head as she shook it once, spreading back the girl’s palm more severely before looking back up at Katniss bewildered.

“Peeta,” she whispered, almost inaudible under the cloth, but even then, the outline of her frown was deep.

Katniss snatched her hand back, eyes wide. “How did you...?”

Effie’s posture returned to her, but her eyes were sad. “Do you need my help or not?”

She didn’t wait for Katniss to answer before she leaned in. “The only way to set him free,” she drawled, “is to find out how he was trapped.”

Oh great, a voodoo queen and riddles.

“I don’t understand,” Katniss admitted bashfully.

The mystical woman cocked her head. “Find out the circumstances surrounding how his death,” she said.

“And he’ll…crossover?”

“Yes.”

Katniss didn’t know if the breath she let out was of elation or fear. It was the answer they’d been searching for but the start of an entirely new question: How did he die?

“It won’t be pretty,” she warned. “He’ll fade before he goes.”

She nodded numbly not understanding but tired of asking for clarification.

“Thank you Effie,” she said handing her a bill but the woman deflected it with one hand. Nails long and sharp, like claws.

“Anything for a friend of Finnick,” she smiled tightly.

Katniss mirrored it, pushing the chair back to the table before reaching for the handle of the door. “What’s on the other side, for him?” she said before she left. Effie turned back to her. “I mean, I just want to know that he—that he’ll be at peace.”

Effie removed the scarf around her face, how she looked so young in such a trade, Katniss didn’t know. She wondered how many stories people had come to her with, the burden she had to shoulder, the secrets she had to keep. What she gave of herself so others could keep going.

She stood in front of Katniss suddenly, and lifted her chin, the woman’s lips a scaly green line.

“Eternity is only a reflection of the life on this side.” she said. “And judging by the way you love him” Katniss perked at this “he’ll be just fine.”

Did she love him? She’d never felt this way about someone or something before that wasn’t her immediate family. But she was willing to go to any length to make sure he was okay for this exact feeling. For...whatever it was.

Effie dropped her hand and glided off to the beaded room but not before turning to Katniss once more.

“Go break the curse,” she encouraged, and disappeared, the beads swaying in her wake, and the trail of her voice as she added absentmindedly:

“And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

* * *

She almost didn’t bring it up.

He was a vision of joy, so in his element dropping a chopped up carrots into the steaming pot on the electric stove, before stirring again. The meal for her obviously. Occasionally, he threw a smile over his shoulder at Katniss holed up in the corner of his bed. Surely the news she had to tell him would burst his happy bubble, but she forced herself nonetheless, time wasn’t on their side.

“Peeta,” the regret in his voice drew his eyes to her. “We should talk about that day.”

She didn’t have to elaborate by the way he stiffened. ”I already told you what happened,” he said patiently to the soup but there was a frown in his voice.

“But maybe there’s something that happened during the day that can help us learn more,” she urged with raised eyebrows.

Nancy Drew, she was not.

She deliberately did not tell him about her venture with the voodoo queen but he did know of her paranormal escapades and of what she was doing to gather as much information as she could to set him free.

He placed the spoon down after a lick for good measure and turned to her fully. “Okay,” he smiled wryly and sat where Katniss had patted beside her on the bed.

“Where should I start?”

She shrugged. “The beginning.”

He exhaled and she squeezed his knee for encouragement.

“The first thing I remember,” he began, twisting his lips as he wrenched the memories out, “Is my father waking me up because I was late for school.”

She imagined it as he spoke, his wayward curls, the remnant of a fulfilling sleep, and him rushing around his room to gather his things.

“I didn’t lay my bed, like I always do, and my mom was not happy about that,” he soured. “And I ended up forgetting my art class assignment on my desk,” he paused at that, bowing his head to laugh. “I brought my teacher a cheese bun and I still got an A plus.”

She almost rolled her eyes but elbowed him instead, inciting even more laughter from him.

“And then after that it’s a little blurry,” his eyes clouded. “I went to wrestling practice, worked my shift at the bakery, and my dad let me out early.”

Coming up was the hard part, the part that stumped them. The part that was crucial to his freedom.

“And then I came out here.” He pointed to the corner where dirty mixing bowls and crumpled parchment laid. “I ran out of violet so I even made some more paint. And that’s it. That’s all I remember.”

  
She sighed, she was confuddled. “And there was no one else around you?”

  
“No. Nobody.”

  
She nodded, braving a smile to make up for the pain that hit her. He had died alone.

  
Alone.

  
-  
-  
-

  
“What was your life like before?” she asked scraping the last bits of squash in her bowl as Peeta watched in front of her.

He salted her soup gingerly before, halting with a lopsided grin, telling her that he couldn’t taste it.

  
She couldn’t imagine being stuck in time like this, constantly replaying memories that couldn’t grow into reality.

  
“Simple,” he said, and then added as an afterthought. “Enough.”

  
She guessed it was better than this paranormal confinement.

  
“Did you have any girlfriends?” She dared, emboldened.

  
He only laughed. “Yes. One.”

  
Of course he would have, he was handsome and he was kind. He must have been popular.

  
“But she’s much older now, probably has children,” the twinkle in his eye dulled. “She always wanted some.”

  
She couldn’t have imagined what it would have felt like to grow up with people, knowing that they’ve aged, have the future they’d envisioned for themselves and continue to evolve.

  
“Did you ever? Want kids?” She averted her eyes for a reason she didn’t know.

  
“Yeah,” he said plainly. “You know, I had a vision for what my future would look like. It definitely wasn’t this. But my dad always said there are infinite choices and infinite outcomes in life.” He grinned at her across the table. “And in this particular outcome, I have you. And I’m grateful.”

  
He didn’t say met he said have and her heart constricted. She was in awe when she looked at him again.

  
“How do you do that?” She breathed leaning in. “Find the good in every situation.” She didn’t add that if the roles were reversed, she would probably haunt people instead of help them.

  
“It only works,” he fluttered his eyelids, his lips grazing hers. “If there’s good to find.”

  
She kissed him first, chapped lips to soft ones, thin to full. When he couldn’t reach his arm across the table, he pulled her into his lap, hands smoothing down her braid as he pushed more into her lips. And when chaste gave way to passion, she stood and pulled him up, guiding him across the short way to the bed. She pushed his shoulders down for him to sit and his eyes widened as she straddled him back, knees at his waist, elbows at his chest, kissing and kissing and kissing but it wasn’t enough.

  
She shed her dress in one swift movement, the decision already made for her, as he peppered hushed kisses by her ear, under her jaw, on her neck as if it were a secret. And it was. It was.

“Wait,” he stopped her with a gentle hand. “Are you sure? Have you ever—are you sure?” He panted, searching her eyes.

“Yes.” To both.

Peeta brought his lips flush back to hers and dipped his tongue ever so slightly to run against the roof of her mouth. She opened it wider to receive. His hands released her breasts from the grip of her brazier and came so effortlessly to hover over her nipples.

Katniss only came up for air once to grant him access to this new kind of dough. “Yes,” she breathed and his fingers quickly acquiesced to knead her tender mounds.

She moaned.

If constellations could make a sound, it would be this. Panting breaths, hurried but languid touches, and one sole light shining over it all. Passion and exploration bursting at every seam. Stars would sound like the universe coming to fruition.

As he worked on her chest, she yanked down his dusty jeans but he jerked back suddenly, his hand over hers at the rim of his waist. She was confused, and then she wasn’t, glimpsing at the crutch forgotten on the floor beside them.

“It’s okay,” she reassured, pushing back bangs but he didn’t meet her eyes.

“Stay with me?” She pleaded. Do you trust me? Will you let me in?

“Always,” he finally conceded letting her remove the pants, tossing them quietly to the ground before running a curious finger along the seam of the prosthetic. She kissed tenderly where skin met metal, and trailed the touch of her lips back up to his mouth as the fire raged on again, and soon he ventured his own fingers to her waistband.

“Take it off,” she gasped, bucking her lips when his thumb slid across the cotton.

He did the opposite, and continued his ministrations over her panties until he slowed, finger soaked. She growled and flung them off of her herself before nipping at his lips again and she blindly felt around until something hard was in her palm. He groaned against her lips, working with her to free him of the last stitch of clothing standing between them.

And she was going to attend to him, she swore it, but he flipped her over before she could do anything and she really truly felt him. “Peeta please,” she whined, rubbing his arm when he took too long. But she had need to hurry, time was never on his side. He looked down at her then, stars swimming in his eyes, before thrusting into her, and she was absolutely filled to the brim with him.

She gasped as if she had spent her life underwater and she’d just broke the surface, hands bracing the headboard behind her as she raised her hips to meet him. Her eyes were squeezed shut but she opened them for a moment to take him in, above her, inside of her. He grunted, picking up the pace as they accustomed the news spaces, the new feelings.

There was a thought, a stubborn one in the back of her head that questioned this moment and how the hell it was even possible. But she pushed it away because this was happening, it was, it was and it felt oh so—

“Katniss,” he groaned, hands squeezing under her knees. “This is so so _good_.”

With his pleasure as her fuel, she chased him, gyrating her hips in time with his until the slaps of their skin met a rhythm that reverberated throughout the cabin walls. They added to the sounds of the night. With the bullfrogs were croaks of the bed, and among the crickets, the couple played each other, singing a different tune.

“_Peeta_,” she mewled, the rush of a receding wave, her warning and she arched her back only for a moment before being rendered speechless at the blinding pleasure coursing through her.

He followed her soon after. “Katniss,” he swooned. “Katniss, Katniss, Katniss.”

-  
-  
-

He was trailing circles on the swell above her backside, his knees wedged between her thighs and her head at his neck.

“It’s you,” he grazed a thumb on her chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

She smiled, raking a hand through his hair. “What about me,” she chided.

“You make me feel alive.”

She would never forget how his teeth outshone the moonlight.

* * *

Katniss slowly twisted the knob and pushed open her front door, cursing under her breath when a creak came after. Before the light of dawn could stream in, she closed it and crept towards the stairs when someone cleared their throat in the parlor.

Busted.

With a sigh, she limply turned her head to the side as her mother stood from an armchair, tea in hand.

“Morning,” Katniss mumbled.

“Where have you been?” Her mother asked in a no-nonsense tone, but her daughter rolled her eyes. This was an act she was all too-familiar with. The ‘concerned-mother’ act.

Katniss crossed her arms. “Out.”

Mrs. Everdeen put her tea down, and matched her daughter’s stance, the oversized cuffs of her robe swallowing her arms. “Out where?”

Katniss huffed exasperated. “Why do you care? I’m fine, I’m here now.”

“I was worried,” the older woman’s eyes grew sad. “You didn’t come home last night an-”

“Oh now you’re worried?” Katniss half-barked, half-whined throwing up her hands.

Mrs. Everdeen closed her eyes and dropped her hands. “Katniss,” she sighed. “When will you stop blaming me for that?”

“When it stops being true!” She yelled and didn’t wait to see the hurt expression in her mother’s face because she knew it all too well and instead took the stairs two at a time. She was grateful for Prim who slept with her door wide open and padded in, smiling at her sister curled up over a pillow.

The stars watched her kick off her shoes and climb in, slowly wrapping her arms around the little blond who only sighed in her sleep.

And with her cheek pressed into her sister’s back, rising and falling with her breathing, Katniss dreamed of a different universe where one of the infinite outcomes was a life with her father alive instead of her mother.

* * *

Because Katniss was feeling especially petulant the next morning, she slammed the front door not just once but twice to ensure her mother knew that she was leaving and still reeling from the argument they’d had last night.

She only brightened once Peeta was in front of her—or under her really—knee deep in the brush, arms speckled with dirt. He looked up when the shade from her shadow blocked his work under the sun.

He peered up then relaxed his eyes. “Oh,” he smiled dusting his hands. “Hi there.”

Katniss mirrored him and sat among the flowers. “Hi,” there was an array of flora and fauna around them. “What are we doing?”

Peeta presented her with his findings in a knapsack; multicolored berries. “I ran out of paint seeing that my supplier spends all her time with me,” he winked.

She blushed, circling the dirt with her finger.

“I’m almost done,” he rose and took her hand. “We just need one more color.”

It was around the corner from them, the sinister purple patch, and as Peeta walked in front of her, she stopped, the tendrils of memory stilling her.

The berries shouldn’t have been able to grow in this habitat. And she thought it must have been a mistake, but the scent was distinguishable, the putrid wafted through her nose and constricted her heart.

“Peeta, stop!” She screeched.

He jumped, the berries falling out of his palms like he’d been singed. Frantic his eyes searched hers.

“Those are Nightlock berries,” she grimly dropped beside him.

Her father had taught her as much as he could about the goodness that the earth could reap and sow, but he would have been remiss to show her the poisons she must stay clear from as well.

He still didn’t put two and two together. “What does that mean?”

It was so vivid, the images of him mashing the fruit into the wooden bowl in his cabin with his bare hands. The indigo streaks making up the highlights of her hair in the portrait, he had forgone a paintbrush stressing that his fingers would do the job. No protection from the potency.

“It means,” she trembled, “I know how you died.”

* * *

END OF PART II

* * *


	3. PART III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I apologize for the wait but I wanted to make this as perfect as possible! For some reason, writing this final part was like pulling teeth. As always, thank you for your support for this story and I truly hope you enjoyed reading :)

Katniss flattened her back against a shelf as a child whizzed past her, a reprimanding older lady mouthing an apology to her on his heels, and made sure the coast was clear before returning to the book in her hand. Nose still buried, she leafed through the pages of another, adding it to the pile in the crook of her arm, regretting the fact that she didn’t grab a proper basket. 

She’d spent the better part of the morning and afternoon weaving through the aisles, getting all the information she could on all she didn’t understand about whatever it was she needed to know. And sure it would have been easier to collect all of her research online, but these books were ancient, and the dust between the parchment would hold more to the secrets of this place than the corners of the interwebs. So far,  _ Ghouls and other Ghosts  _ and  _ Spellbound _ laid at the top of her pile. 

Katniss walked over to the counter, almost sighing in relief as the weight of the books left her. “Just getting an early start on Halloween,” she smiled nervously to the inquisitive librarian checking her stash out. Her spectacles couldn’t hide the judgement in her eyes before handing a bag back to Katniss and she threw a thanks over her shoulder before slagging the heap over it, quickly making her way out of the air condition and back out of the heat to follow the path back to her neighborhood. 

The books weren’t the only things tugging at her. Her stomach churned at the thought of Peeta’s face when she’d revealed the true use for the berries and that they were more putrid than just the smell. 

She tried to placate him with words of consolation, but what did you say to someone who had inadvertently killed themselves? He shut her out for a week, and her frantic knocks turned solemn. He needed the space, and she couldn’t find him if he did not reveal himself to her. So she waited with bated breath, forcing herself to normalcy until he would finally show up. Trying to figure out the last part of this sinister puzzle. 

The urgency of it all, the impermanence, was overwhelming, and it followed her every step she took in the square that day. She was so focused on getting back that she almost missed a certain blond waving her arms overhead in the distance. 

“Hey Madge,” she dropped the bag, her shoulder free as her friend pulled her into a brief hug. “What’s up?”

“You know,” the blond laughed, shaking the stack full of papers in her hand, “just my dad’s work mule.” 

“One sec,” she plastered a smile to a passerby and gave him one of the sheets. “Town hall meeting tomorrow, be there or be square!” 

She only held the smile for a moment after he left before turning back to her friend with amused exasperation. “He told me to say that.” 

Katniss smirked and squinted at the small writing. “What’s the meeting for?” 

Madge eagerly handed one to her from the pile. “They are  _ finally _ talking about demolishing the entrance to the marsh. The one right by your house actually.” 

Katniss paled, the paper floating to the stoned ground. “Closing the marsh?” 

Madge gave her a weird look. “Yeah. And it’s about time too.” 

Katniss truly tried to put on a relieved face, but no matter how hard she curled her lips, she was sure they came out as a grimace. How could she tell her friend that without the marsh, there was no Peeta either?

“Chin up!” Madge laughed but her eyes were concerned, and when she didn’t get a reply, she crossed her arms. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she said tightly, hoisting up her bag on her shoulders again. “I have to go.” 

She didn’t hear what Madge called after her, she had one thing on her mind. 

\- 

-

-

The blond bush in the distance wasn’t part of the brush of the marsh, and Katniss quickened her pace as Peeta lumbered towards her. If it wasn’t his gait that betrayed him, it was the storm on his face. His hooded blue eyes refused to meet her own once he stood before her, but he was leaning too far onto his crutch, and the grey tinge about him had nothing to do with the clouds rolling overhead. 

“Katniss,” he rasped, his knees buckling. “Something isn’t right.”

Katniss balanced the books so she could loop her arm through his shoulder, just catching him before he fell. She half-dragged him, half-limped to the cabin and flung open the door, sitting him on the edge where he collapsed, shaking. His hands and feet curled into themselves and when she got closer, the sallowness of his skin sent a chill through her. 

“What’s happening!” She screamed more to herself. “What’s happening to you!”

She climbed on top of him, bearing her weight down as if it would stop the shaking, and she hissed at the burning sensation his forehead emitted when she brushed the sweaty bangs out of his eyes. There was no way he could be sick, it wasn’t possible. But once the shudders turned to steady breaths, the reaction came to her slowly and then all at once. 

_ It won’t be pretty,  _ Effie’s words were sharp in her mind,  _ He’ll fade before he goes _

She didn’t allow herself to focus on anything but his breaths, however labored they were. Katniss eyed him gravely, and kissed the back of his steaming neck before gently reaching down his arms to uncurl his hands until he did it of his own accord. Her own feet wrapping around his. 

The universe was cruel, she decided then, intertwined like vines stuck to branches, and pressed against a gentle man whose suffering never seemed to cease. Would the stars really make him die again like this? 

“Peeta,” she whispered heavily, her heart even heavier. 

He only dug his cheek deeper into the mattress, but his ear was open, and she cupped her hands to block out every other sound. 

“Peeta,” she kissed his lobe. “You’re leaving.”

He stirred, eyes crinkling even while shut. “Where am I going,” he slurred sleepily. 

Her face crumpled. 

She didn’t answer him back. 

She didn’t know. 

* * *

Her fingers were roasting under the tin foiled dish her mother had made her carry, and she shifted it into her other hand, warily eyeing the older woman waiting patiently beside her on the porch. 

Apparently having dinner at the Mellark’s was a rite of passage for any newcomer of the town and it was their turn to have a seat at the table. Who were they not to oblige the kindest person in Panem? 

The double mahogany doors opened only a minute after Prim rang the doorbell and the old Mellark stepped out, beckoning them inside in all of his gentle glory. 

“Welcome,” he beamed, a hand at the small of her back as he ushered her family. “Come in.” 

Mr. Mellark shuffled them through the door before leading them straight into the main dining hall. Katniss eyes darted across the room as he pulled out a chair for her, her heart panging at every framed photo with a curly golden haired boy. How his memory was seated so comfortably near their hearth, and his spirit hidden away in the corner of the dark and cool brush. 

The aroma wafting from the dish that Mr. Mellark eagerly passed around shook her from her thoughts. Her mother and sister’s plates were already full, she hollowly looked down at her own to see stew and meat before meeting the expectant eyes of everyone around the table. How long had she been in her head for?

“I’m sorry,” she swallowed dryly, picking up a fork even though she wasn’t so hungry anymore. “What did you say?”

Mrs. Everdeen cut through the chicken a little too roughly.

“You’ve been here for almost three months,” Mr. Mellark drank from his cup. “How are you finding Panem?”

She had to choose her words carefully and moving some peas to the corner of her plate she put on a small smile. 

“It’s different. It’s nice,” she added as an afterthought when her mother frowned at the first part. 

Mr. Mellark only laughed. “And how have you spent your summer so far?”

“Just hanging out with Madge and all of them,” she said evasively. She didn’t need to explain who they were any further from the way he nodded. 

“And going into the marsh,” Prim grumbled. 

Katniss’ head whipped to her right, the tail of her braid almost knocking over her glass of water, eyes widened in shock or confusion or perhaps a mixture of both. 

“What?” Katniss hissed. 

“What?” The adults echoed, food forgotten.

“Nothing,” Prim shrunk and shoved a forkful into her mouth. 

All of their eyes prompted a response and Prim huffed looking pointedly at Katniss. 

“I saw you go in, once,” she shrugged. “Sorry.”

Katniss didn’t know she was biting her lip until the taste of iron hit the edge of her tongue. “You must mean after Buttercup got lost,” she scurried to cover, wishing she was telepathic and could send a message to her sister. But Prim was much too matter-of-factly. 

The little blond casually shook her head. “No. Just the other day.”

“Katniss,” her mother started, the weariness rising in her tone. 

“May I use the bathroom?” She shot up, scrambling eyes seeking out Mr. Mellark. She needed a break, a moment to collect herself and her thoughts. A minute to come up with an incredibly good lie. 

“Straight down the hall, first door on your right,” he directed. 

Their host’s silence was not lost on her as she excused herself. 

Once out of sight, Katniss pressed herself up against the wall that hid her frame to catch her breath, only continuing down the hall once the scrapes of knives on dinner plates resumed. 

She closed the door and turned the faucets before splashing at her face until her eyes were red-rimmed, irritated by the rush. But she needed the pain of it momentarily, just a little, to steady her. She felt like an invader, being here. 

She didn’t know how Mr. Mellark could stay in this house, the weight of Peeta was pushing at her, and she hunched over the sink willing herself not to vomit. She wondered if he could sense his son on her, and cupped her hands under the faucet to splash her arms, furiously scrubbing until her olive skin turned an angry shade of pink. 

As she left the bathroom, the door at the end of the hall drew her attention, moreso the piece of tattered paper in childish scrawl that read “Peeta’s Room”. Katniss’ heart sank turning her head back to the dining room, but the murmurs of the dinner conversation silenced once she stepped inside. 

The backdrop of the moonlight streaming in through the one window in the corner bathed everything in an eerie effect, but it was still all  _ him _ . The twisted sheets of the twin bed, pastels and stencils littering his desk, and the half-open closet with plaid shirts and sweaters strewn from the hooks were worse. The room stood still as if he had just left just a moment ago, thirty years of dust glimmering on everything for proof that he hadn’t ever returned. 

Rage suddenly surged through her, the blood rushing to her ears. It wasn’t fair, any of it. His death wasn’t fair. The fact that Mr. Mellark had to suffer the pain of not knowing what happened to his son, wasn’t fair. She clenched her jaw. The fact that she couldn’t tell him that Peeta had died, wasn’t fair. 

She leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to move his things.” 

Her eyes flew open and she turned to face him with an apology already on her lips, but his eyes were anything but accusatory as he carefully sat on the bed, his head bowed. Just for a moment, he looked like Peeta. The shaggy blond silver hair, a curtain over his face. 

Mr. Mellark brought the teddy bear perched near him straight to his heart. “He was a sweet boy.” 

“He is,” she affirmed before realizing her mistake. “Um, seemed like one,” she corrected bravely sitting next to him. 

Mr. Mellark had never looked older to her as he did then. Every crevice in his face imprinted by time and loss illuminated by the glow of the night; the sag of his shoulders. If she didn’t know better, she would say he was fading too. 

“6 weeks after he…” he sighed, “he was gone, Layla left as well.” 

It dawned on her after a minute he was talking about his wife. 

“But I couldn’t expect her to stay,” he went on. “It was hard on her.” 

_ But it was hard on you too _ , she wanted to say. 

As if remembering himself, he did a sweep around the room. “But we couldn’t…” he sucked in a breath. “I couldn’t change anything. Touch his things.” 

Katniss didn’t know what to say that would placate him, the thing she could say sounded insane, so she hesitantly took his hand instead. Mr. Mellark gave her a sad smile, a grateful one. 

“I just want to know, that wherever he is, he’s at peace.” 

She didn’t know why that was what did it for her. The tears spilling over her eyes before she could stop them. “I’m sorry,” with quivering lips, she hung her head. “I’m so sorry.” 

She just kept repeating those words. Sorry that he couldn’t hold his son like she had. Sorry for the numbness he had to withstand for all these years. Sorry that absolution would never come to him. Sorry that kind and good people always got the short end of the stick.  _ Sorry sorry sorry.  _

Startled, Mr. Mellark drew her into him, the warmth of his arms muffling her cries. And she thought about how many times those arms had held his son. All of the birthday embraces, pride when we won a wrestling match, consolation if he had made a mistake baking a new recipe. She thought of the last time he had held him, and what his arms had meant for Peeta then. 

“There are too many ghosts in this house,” he whispered into her hair.

She gripped him tighter. 

He had no idea. 

-

-

-

“Mom?”

Katniss found her in the kitchen, stirring some sugar into her tea, a nightly ritual. She snapped her eyes up to her daughter, quickly morphing into concern when she approached. 

“Hi Kat,” she started carefully, laying spoon on the counter. "What’s wrong?”

All the resolve Katniss had shouldered, all of the anger and resentment she had carried...broke.

What was wrong? Everything. 

“Mom,” Katniss croaked throwing her arms around her neck and burrowing her head in her chest. 

Mrs. Everdeen was stunned stiff, and then softened, holding her back. 

“Honey?” 

Katniss inhaled her mother’s scent, and made sure that in that moment, she would never forget how she felt in her arms.

“It’s okay,” her mother cooed, a quick kiss to her daughter’s temple. “It’s okay.” 

* * *

The somberness carried through to the next day, and it didn’t wane at Peeta’s deteriorating form. 

A lazy hand combed through his hair under the blanket they were sharing while Peeta rested on her bare stomach. His cheek singing her cool and slick skin; the fever never seemed to break. 

“Katniss.”

He opened an eye and pressed a kiss to her navel before sitting up slowly. 

“I won’t be here for much longer,” he said softly, sure of himself.

“What does it feel like?” She wondered. 

“Like,” his eyes drifted to the ceiling, pupils dancing. “I’m going home.” He sighed. “I can’t explain it.”

She nodded, her head as heavy as a dumbbell. 

“Where were you last night?” He asked after a minute. 

She could have lied, it would have been easier. On the both of them. But what would that do? In the moments he had left, she wanted to be truthful. Entirely herself. 

“Your father invited us over to your home for dinner,” she started slowly, pretending not to notice him tensing under her. 

It was a while before he spoke again. “How was it?”

“Hard,” she answered honestly. 

He propped himself up on his elbows, resting his head against the enclave of pillows so he could better watch her. 

She sighed under his gaze, even though they were anything but scrutinizing, she still felt it. “I saw your room...and your dad was—” she shook her head. “He didn’t move anything.” She shrugged wiping under her eyes, just in case. “It was hard.”

Peeta didn’t move. “And my mother?”

Katniss snapped her eyes back to his, the realization of it all hitting her chest, knocking the words from her at every attempt. Of course he wouldn’t know about her. Of course, she would have to tell him. 

“Peeta,” her eyes implored his for peace. “She left. A few months after you went missing.”

He pulled back so suddenly, she bounced back against the headboard. 

He laughed, the sound catching in his throat. “She moved on.” 

She didn’t like the ice in his tone, such a far cry from the usual warmth in his words, and she moved to place a hand on his knee but he dodged it, swinging his legs up to the edge of the bed before reaching for his crutch. 

“Katniss, what are we doing?” He whispered with an exhale as he stood. 

Katniss momentarily stunned found herself and scrambled after him. “Peeta, what do you mean?”

“I’ve been so selfish. Spent 30 years alone and then you saw me. The first person to see me. To touch me. It was tantalizing.” He gulped, his head leaned against the window frame. “You need to keep moving. Keep living.” 

Where was this coming from? 

“But I am.” Katniss countered, standing before him, arms crossed. 

When Peeta turned to face her again, she almost had to look away from the pain around his eyes. Suddenly, his face had so much depth to it. The freckles that dotted his nose looked like gages. Craters in his sagging skin. Ovals of pink circling his eyes. “You can’t live with someone who’s already dead.”

“Peeta–”

“When you look at me, can you honestly say you can see a future?”

It was an unfair question and she looked at the portrait he had drawn of her, on the easel. The formidable woman on the parchment who sat unblemished by anything, it seemed. If she had endured a hardship, it didn’t impact her in the slightest. And suddenly, she was transfixed and jealous of that stupid painting that was supposed to be of her. 

Her hesitation was all he needed. 

Peeta banged his crutch against the floorboards, wincing at the exertion before pointing the wooden stick towards the cabin door. “You have to go.”

Katniss blinked stupidly. “What?”

“I said,” Peeta’s voice rose, “get out.” And when she still stood, dumbfounded, he barked. “Go! Get out of here. Leave!” 

Katniss’ face was mysteriously wet, but it wasn’t until she felt a tear trail her neck did she realize it was coming from her. Shaking, from terror or shock, she didn’t know, she slowly backed away from his cowering body crumpled in the corner of the windowsill. She pleaded with him silently to meet her eyes one more time, to see straight, to realize this banishment was just a side effect of his transferral, but he didn’t move. 

With eyes downcast, Katniss stepped out into the bog. And whether it was the strangled cry of him or her that rang out into the evening, it was painful all the same. 

* * *

Accustoming to life without him was difficult. But she had to get used to it, so she begrudgingly welcomed this new glimpse into this next existence. It was the only true thing keeping her from him. And yet, every time she woke up, she still felt him. He hadn’t passed yet. It was like he imprinted himself into her somehow, some way. 

She was buried underneath a slew of comforter, head poking out just enough to catch the stream of the moonlight. Just enough for the tips of the trees to hit her windowpane, the shadows dancing across her bedroom like fairies. 

“I’m sorry for telling on you,” a small voice said in the doorway. 

Katniss pulled herself from her thoughts to beckon her sister deeper into her room. When the younger girl slipped herself inside the blanketed fortress atop the bed, Katniss held her close, freckled noses touching freckled noses, blond eyelashes scraping the tips of olive toned cheeks. If she shut her eyes, it almost felt like his. 

“That’s okay,” Katniss whispered, looping a yellow curl from her sister’s forehead. Primrose leaned into the touch, briefly closing her eyes before opening them again, blue orbs shiny with curiosity. 

“What were you doing there anyways?”

Katniss sighed, pursing her lips. She had never told a soul about anything that had happened thus far—well besides Effie—, and she promised herself she wouldn’t. But in the quiet hours of the early evening, and her mind askew, her definition of trust wasn’t much anymore. Plus, her sister had always been a confidant. 

The older girl pushed the sheets down to their knees and sat them both up against the bed frame. 

“If I tell you something, will you swear to never tell anyone?” 

Prim’s eyes lit up, the wonder of trust sparkling. “I swear.”

Katniss held up her smallest finger. “Pinky swear?”

She hooked her finger around her sister’s before their hands fell in between their laps. 

So Katniss told her sister about it all. Well, not it all, obviously, but enough for a tale to be woven so intricately, Prim had swooned and gasped and sighed. By the end, both girls were sprawled out in different positions on the mattress. 

“I don’t think he needs me anymore,” Katniss pensed, legs flush against the edge, head and hair swaying towards the floor. 

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Katniss raised her flushed head. “What?”

Prim shrugged, pulling her sister back up fully onto the bed. “He probably pushed you away because he cares about you.” 

Katniss blinked at the child. “What do you know about…” she shook her head, “you didn’t see his face.” The image of him like that jarred her in her dreams. 

Prim only crawled closer to her sister, patting the open space behind her to which the dark haired girl hesitantly moved to. 

“I’m only 9 so I don’t know a lot about that stuff,” Katniss laughed at that. “But, I do know that if he hurt you that badly, he probably loves you even more.”

Katniss deflated, eyes not leaving her sister who smiled toothily at her. 

“But honestly,” Prim jumped, her daisy nightgown billowing at the movement. “I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

“It makes sense.” Katniss confirmed and pulled the girl back into her, drowning them with comforter once again. “When did you get so wise?”

Prim yawned, burying her head against the pillow. “I think it’s the cheese buns.”

* * *

Katniss had been steadily avoiding her friends and carefully dodging any invites, so when Madge jogged past her driveway, a wary glance morphing into wide eyes and a wider smile, Katniss sheepishly stood from her porch and mentally scrambled to find a sufficient enough excuse as she descended the stairs. 

“There you are!” The blonde woman beamed, wiping the sheen off of her hands before gathering those of her dark haired friend. 

Katniss tried to match her smile but her eyes betrayed her, darting to every single tree behind around them. “Here I am,” she lamely said.

If Madge picked up on her tone she ignored it. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Party at my house tonight.”

The grimace was on Katniss face before Madge finished her sentence. “I don’t think so. I have stuff with Prim.”

“So bring her too!” Madge dropped her arms to shake them. “This is a monumental day for Panem.”

“And why’s that?” 

Madge all but died. “Haven’t you heard?”

And at her blank stare, her friend rolled her eyes. “You know Kat, if you’re gonna live in this town, you need to catch up on the gossip.” 

“Madge,” she hedged. 

“The vote passed! They’re shutting down the entrance to the marsh,” she slumped against Katniss. “Took long enough.”

If Madge was still speaking, Katniss didn’t hear her. 

Her heart dropped into her stomach. 

“I have to go,” Katniss breathed, already taking off a few feet away. 

Madge threw up her hands. “Okay, well...see you tonight!” 

-

The marshland was a mirror of her consciousness which was barely strung together as she dipped and jumped over the soil and brush. The olive-toned trees were pitch black under the rolling sky and shadows deceived her, morphing from flowers to creatures.

The cabin lacked the life of billowing smoke from the chimney or the warmth of a flicker of flames through the window and the anxiety that rippled through her pumped her heart more than hope. 

Katniss wrenched the door open with her entire body, the entry much heavier than she’d ever remembered it to be, before scanning the room with wide eyes. 

She ripped the comforter off of him with shaking fingers and recoiled into her knees at his state. 

“Peeta,” she shook him gently. “Wake up, we have to go.”

The guttural groan he coughed out was the worst sound she’d ever heard. 

“Come on,” she exhaled as she flung an arm over her shoulder, almost buckling at the sudden weight of him, and walking him to a chair.

She scrambled through his things on his counter, and then on his bed, settling on a tattered duffel as she absentmindedly threw an array of items inside. One eye on her progress, another on him. 

He stirred and she ran to him, crouching to wipe dampened bangs to the side of his forehead. He had never looked like a corpse until then. The ocean of his eyes dimmed into that of the dead see. He panted turning his head to both sides before mumbling something indecipherable. 

“We have to go,” she kissed his hands, ignoring the burning of his knuckles on her lips. 

After a few tries, he lolled his head and she held his chin up for him as he whispered. “Go where?”

“They’re closing the marsh, Peeta,” she ignored his question because she didn’t actually know. She had to focus on getting him packed and getting him out, to safety. 

“No.”

She whirled around. 

“You know I can’t leave,” he swallowed. 

She bit her lip. 

“Besides,” he coughed. “I’m already leaving anyways.”

Katniss was indignant. 

“Fine,” she said. “Then I’ll figure out a way to stop them from closing it down. I’ll text Madge or—”

“Katniss,” he uttered. “You have to let me go.”

It was a stupid thing he asked of her, and insulting. So very insulting. She ground her teeth. “I am  _ not _ doing that.” 

“You have to,” he whispered. 

“There has to be another way!” Katniss bellowed, refusing to take the situation as what it was. Refusing to make that choice. She didn’t know she was shaking until the heat of Peeta’s arms held her own and stilled her. That bit of strength surfacing through the fragility of him. What was left of him. He rested his chin on her head. 

“I’m not afraid Katniss.” And then. “You saved me.” 

Words that would have ordinarily been so good and so kind, were deadly now. They were goodbyes, she knew all too well; hadn’t she been saying them her whole life? Goodbye to her father. Goodbye to her home in the north. And now, goodbye to this man who had been her undoing. 

She was not ready for it. 

Gently untwisting herself from him, she feigned acceptance. Katniss kissed him, gently, softly, before leading him to the door of the cabin, duffel open and unfinished on the counter. 

“Will you come with me?” She asked, her back to him until she felt the weight of his hand in her open one. 

-

-

-

If Katniss hadn’t made her mind back at the cabin, she did when that special patch came into their view. She released his hand somberly and trudged through the fauna to get to what she needed. 

He realized what she intended to do before she even did, and all but leaped across the way with a pained grunt, but she barricaded the bush, daring him to cross with troubled eyes. 

He was doubled-over, a trembling hand on his stomach and he clenched his jaw to where his face was bowed towards the dirt. “You can’t,” he whispered, firmly. “Not for me.” 

“Then, for me,” she urged, eyes still on the patch.

He groaned. “Katniss, please—” 

“You didn’t ask me!” her voice rang out, hands buried into her hair. Suddenly it was too much. It was all too much. 

He knitted his eyebrows in confusion, slowly bringing his head up to watch her. “Ask you what, Katniss?”   


“What I wanted,” her voice caught at the end, and the tremor in it matched her shaky hands. She fisted them for strength. “You never asked me.”

Peeta closed his eyes again and took in a sharp breath before standing. He knew, he had to know what her answer would be. But he still obeyed. “What do you want?” 

Her resolve shattered and she scrambled to hold him close. Her hand cupped his cheek, newly dampened by his tears and she pressed her forehead into his bangs. “You,” she choked. 

It was so clear to her, even if she couldn’t have it in this life. His acceptance was in a gesture, his hand free from the grip of the cane cradled her chin for the hardest kiss they’d ever had. And in it was a goodbye to one world, and a hello to another. 

“I don’t know how this works,” he repeated brokenly, his eyes on the patch behind her. She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her windbreaker and turned to sit. 

She ignored the sting of thorns scraping her knees as she picked the potent fruit, the last reminder of what it would feel like to truly be alive, and returned to Peeta who stood a little lower, his eyes a little softer. 

“How do I do this?” She whispered, the berries a weight in her hand. They rolled around her palms and left traces of the deadly juice in the crevices and cracks. It wasn’t a question of how to kill herself in this life, but to revive herself in the next. With him. 

It was a moment before he responded. “You have to take it of your own volition,” he shook so visibly now. 

“Of my own volition,” tears fell openly from her eyes. 

“Even then—”

“It might not work,” she squeezed her hand, the droplets falling to the earth, scarring the dirt. 

Katniss tried to garner up all the information she had skimmed in the pages of those dusty stupid books, but nothing came to her. So she thought back to what differentiated him from her, and it was the unfinished life that she recalled. The stain of removal that Effie had told her of. So she asked herself: was her life unfinished? 

Yes. 

It was. 

Primrose would be okay, and though the thought of her young sister withstanding another blow to their family sent something akin to fire through her stomach, Katniss knew that she would be alright. Her mother would take care of her. She had to this time. And if not, this town would. They had settled in a good place. 

It was so apparent to her now how death drew her so. How it always surrounded her, how it trailed her footsteps, waiting for her, finding her, befriending her, loving her. 

“You love me,” Peeta croaked, throwing his head back, eyes like black slits. “Real or not real.” 

Wherever he would go, she would follow. 

She couldn’t look at him, or stop the tears, so she pressed her face into his shoulder. Let them run down his chest. Maybe they would crystallize and immortalize him. Shakily, she stuffed one, two, three berries into her mouth, and the paradox of the sweetness was not missed. One swallow and she was lost. 

“Real.” 

* * *

What happened after was a blur. Pieces of the present dotted around her consciousness, traipsing the bridge of life and death and whatever came after. Two strong, pale hands holding her against the tree, something pushing down into her throat. A violent cough, violet chunks streaming down her chin. Maybe this was the purging of her soul, the darkness of it all and the mistakes she’d hidden in shame, all surfacing before she left. So she let it happen.The faint sound of sirens pulsed the air. She was floating, limp in a pair of strong arms. Was it God? She wished it to be. And as the feeling of existing waned, and her head hung heavy, something soft hit her ears. 

One voice. One whisper.

Something unintelligible, something important, something lost. 

* * *

Bits of muffled noise broke the universe. 

Stars gave way to harsh fluorescent lights, dotted white tiles. A constellation of determined and fearful eyes. Fingers in her hair. Palms on her legs. Groans and creaks of wheels punctured the dark matter until it ebbed away. Something steady, something sure, throbbed inside of her, crazily attuning to a rhythm. 

Voices like marble patterns, undeterred by the confines of structure washed over her like waves. 

“Katniss, honey,” said one. “Stay with us, okay?”

Another. “Get the gastric lavage ready,  _ NOW!” _

Katniss stirred and shook. It was too loud. It was too loud. It was too—

This universe was bitter and it bubbled up from her mouth, but even so, her lips only formed one name before the dark matter returned. 

Two of the bluest stars she’d seen lit up in the black, and she revelled in awe. 

* * *

Fire raged, like a million ants rushing from a flood, and the hot coals of it all awoke Katniss with a gulp and a start. 

The gulping took precedence, and with a weak arm outstretched, she searched beside her and found a cup of water. She downed it greedily, the drink soothing the dry and dusty cracks, and droplets trailed down her neck making the white gown she clad see through. 

Funnily enough, she didn’t realize she was alive then. The plastic band around her wrist didn’t scream survival. Nor the beeping of the IV chord plunged into her arm. 

It was, again, the silence that roused her. 

She blinked twice. Hard. Before the panic trickled up her spine. And both hands fisted the cold metal bars of the cot she laid on. 

“No,” she whispered. 

But she already knew where she was, what this was. Still, she searched desperately for proof that she was wrong. That this could be a misunderstanding. Painfully, she balanced herself onto her knees and ripped out the needle. But the blood that followed, the small stream of red was more than enough. 

She’d failed. She’d failed him.  _ Them _ . 

“No!” Katniss yanked at her braid, hysterics morphing into hyperventilation as she fell back against the cot. “No, no no…”

The tears came, even though she rubbed her eyes furiously. There was no time for this. She had to think. The gears turned and spun and croaked in her brain, and she made herself think back to the last moment she’d had with him. Just before. 

And then she remembered. 

He forced his fingers down her throat. She’d thrown up. He did this. 

“Peeta,” the name came out strangled through her teeth. “Why?” 

What had he said to her?

Her fists came down upon the cot harder and harder and harder. She heaved, stuffing her mouth with the blanket to muffle the guttural sounds she couldn’t stop making but a flurry of faces came in anyways. 

“I’ll never forget you,” she sobbed. “I won’t. I won’t.” 

Something warm prickled at her neck and spread through her body. She stilled, drifting into something. If it was sleep, she welcomed it urgently. 

And if it was death, she would greet it all the same. 

* * *

With the first day of autumn came absolution. 

For them. Not for her. 

A mysterious tip rang the Panem Police. 

“A body in the marsh.”

“A body...in the marsh?” Scribbled the clerk on the other line, the intrigue or the confusion intoned in her voice.

It was a moment before she responded again. She couldn’t go back after this. “Yes,” she said hollowly. “Peeta Mellark.”

A sharp intake of breath. Silence. And then. “Where?”

Katniss leveled herself. “By the cabin.”

Then she hung up. 

Like a bird in a nest, she perched herself against her windowsill until headlights came into view. Three cars full of people in dark gear wandered into the entrance. It was only when the flashlights disappeared into the brush, and it was only when the furious barks of dogs echoed through the trees, that she stalked to her bed. Her pillow stifling the blow of a finality she did not wish for. 

* * *

Mellark Bakery was closed for the rest of the month.

But once the doors were opened again, towards the end of the gallery, right by the final medal, was a picture of  _ him _ . 

Pure, dazzling, dimpled. 

_ Real.  _

* * *

“It’s crazy.”

Katniss turned her head from the windowsill towards her blonde friend sprawled out on the floor, enthralled in the  _ Panem Times  _ issue that seemed to stack everywhere now. 

“What is?” Katniss asked non-committedly, looking outside again. 

She could still see Madge sit up, eyebrows scrunched, in her peripheral vision. “After they found Peeta’s body, when they went to the cabin, there was half-eaten food on the counter.” Madge splayed her hands out. “I mean don’t you think that’s weird?”

Katniss hugged her knees against her chest. “Yeah,” she whispered. The taste of his soup still on her lips. 

“And,” Madge furiously flipped a page before folding the grey parchment back. “They found this giant portrait of a woman. But no one knows who it is.” 

Madge all but shoved the image in her face but once Katniss turned, the recognition ran her blood cold. She snatched the newspaper out of her friend’s hands and flattened it onto her knees, dispelling wrinkles in the paper that weren’t there. Her eyes met the irises of the girl in the painting, and the memories of that day came back like a flood. She trailed the image of the canvas with a finger and the overwhelming sense of him was palpable enough to draw a prickle from her yes. 

“It kind of...looks like you, Katniss,” Madge slowly inquired and the dark haired girl remembered herself, tilting her head back to keep the water at bay before flinging the paper to the ground. 

No one could know of the lady with the deadly raven hair. 

Katniss forced a strangled laugh, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice her shaking. “Don’t be stupid.” 

* * *

_ Water lapped up over her, as she writhed against another strong current. Her senses were dulled, submerged under the water that seemed to never cease, all but one. Eyes flew open, murky, salty particles burning her pupils as a figure approached her. A dot in the distance. Then closer. And in front of her suddenly, pulling her free from a watery doom. Who was it? She couldn’t tell. They broke the surface at long last but she was dry. And then against a tree, the bark puncturing her matted braid.  _

_ The soil was hot against her thighs, and vines crept up slowly slithering around her arms and legs, fastening her to the tree. She struggled against them, palms drawing only handfuls of dirt and blades of dead grass. She called for help but instead of words, violet chunks dribbled down her chin. The more she tried to speak, the faster she vomited black.  _

_ But then, there he was. As he always was. Right where and when she needed him.  _

_ The brush responded to him and the vines retracted themselves from her, receding back into the branches with a cry. Furiously, one pale hand dove into her mouth and he forced her head down as she gurgled then heaved and spit.  _

_ He held her head back onto his knee and turned her head to face his.  _

_ Familiar sounds pierced the air. Sirens. She was loopy, felt like a bubble taut to pop, but he stood so still and planted his chapped lips right up to her ears.  _

_ One voice. One whisper. _

_ Something unintelligible, something important, something lost.  _

_ Something found.  _

_ “Live,” it urged. “ _ Live _ .”  _

A gasp. 

Katniss arched her back up into her sheets, a sheen of sweat encasing every inch of her like an insect in amber, mouth opened wide inhaling whatever air she could get at. And in that gasp, she sucked in all of the life in the world. She truly awoke for the first time in weeks. 

He had told her to live. 

Senses buzzing like a swarm, the blood rushing through her and the sweet sound of her heart thrumming in her chest, she sprinted down the stairs and out the front door, shoes forgotten. She didn’t stop until she had rapped twice on two hard doors and a frazzled, exhausted looking blond opened the door.

“Katniss?” Madge rubbed her eyes, taking in her state. “Do you have any idea what time it—”

“Do you think,” the dark haired girl panted, “that it’s too late to enroll at your school?”

Madge looked at her like she’d grown three heads before peering back into her dark house. “You know,” she crossed her arms encased in pink satin polka dots. “You could’ve just texted me.”

Katniss had too much intention to look sheepish and Madge deflated, opening the doors wider and ushering her friend inside. 

* * *

**40 YEARS LATER**

She had only come of death’s accord. 

But of course she would, it beckoned for her her whole life, it seemed. 

Her mother’s landlord had rang her, in lieu of her passing, the Louisiana estate would be left to the eldest daughter. 

Primrose was busy moving her daughter into her first year of college to assist and Katniss hadn’t pushed her to help. She remembered the day she’d moved in to her own university, the emotions running rampant, the jitters of a new first. She wouldn’t take that experience away from her little sister. Well, not so little anymore, anyways. 

She was out first, slamming the car door a little too loud before leaning against the hood, feet planted like a weed on the asphalt of her old driveway. 

“You know,” her husband’s gruff voice shook her out of her daze. “You only ever brought me here once.”

She didn’t turn her gaze from the house until he came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her torso. Speckled patches on his chin tickling her own and prompting a small smile. 

“Once is enough,” she drew in his elbow for a moment before holding steady to his hands, walking to the door. “Come on.”

With a forceful groan, the door opened to the parlor, and she had to swat the air in front of her to clear the particles of dust that had settled in the months after her mother’s death. 

She didn’t want the property obviously. It wasn’t like they were going to come down for vacation often, or even at all. Her visits were sporadic for the last decades anyway. Plus, the green and woodland escapes they needed were quelled with weekends at their cottage in Connecticut, just a few hours away from their home in New York. 

She sent the house keys careening towards the massive pile of boxes to their right and bumped the door shut with her foot. 

“Well,” she sighed with a shrug. “Let’s get to work.”

It wasn’t as difficult as Katniss imagined it being, going through their things and discarding them. 

There were a few sad moments, though, like when she’d fished out her mother’s robe, or a picture of the three of them when they were all so much younger. But it was a good kind of sad that she could only describe as full. She’d like to imagine her mother with her father together at last. That was really what she’d wanted anyhow. 

And thankfully, neither of the two found anything that led back to  _ him _ . She’d held her breath every time Gale reacted to something he’d found. 

The day passed by quickly, and she thanked the sky for it. Soon, the two of them were back in her bedroom, under her old covers. She could have taken her mother’s master, of course, but she preferred her own. 

Too many ghosts in this house, someone had once told her. 

“You okay?” He asked, the vibration of his adam’s apple against her temple, his hands trailing her bare arms. 

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes fixated on the ceiling. 

He looked down at her, doubt crinkling in the crevices around his eyes. “You were never a good liar, Kat.”

She rolled her own, pulling her husband’s face down for a chaste kiss because she didn’t know what to say to him. Thankfully, all he did was draw the covers over them further and place a kiss at her temple before dropping his head to welcome sleep. 

It was only when her husband’s snores were loud and steady that she slipped out of his embrace, and out of the house, back to where it all began. 

Uncertain steps over prickly footfalls didn’t hinder her as much as the past, but still she pressed on, pushing those thoughts and memories as far as she could before they came back like a flood when she arrived  _ there. _

The entryway had been demolished long ago. Katniss wrapped the satin robe around her, tying the two ends despite the humidity—of course despite the humidity—and stepped out of her moccasins to sink her feet into the soil. With the dirt coating in between her toes, she sighed deeply, and walked along what she remembered. 

A log caught the edge of her pants as she hopped over it, the snag emitting a laugh from her. She wasn’t as nimble as she used to be. Or as familiar with this place as she had been. 

As soon as she was admitted to school at the opposite end of the state, she hadn’t waited to get out of Panem with Madge. She ensured that she had a valid enough excuse to not ever come back, too. But then she’d met Gale, who had pushed to know about where she came from and she reluctantly brought him back for Thanksgiving during her second year. It was fine, better than she’d expected it to have been. But then Prim had brought cheese buns, and the scent absolutely knocked her out cold.

She didn’t bring him, or herself back after that. And instead, opted for her family coming up to visit her. And that’s how it stayed. And it was easier that way, to repress the pain of what was and what could never be. She was able to file it away, and she never told a soul. Not after Prim. Not her husband. Not her children. 

But standing here, at the footpath, she hunched over a log, arms clutching her stomach to fight the nausea of memories of him. Her golden boy. Bits of him pieced together, flashed before her eyes. A curl, bright and brilliant eyes, a smile, a crutch. She didn’t cry, though, not anymore. Her heart just ached. And though the ebb dwindled with age, it still hurt all the same. 

She backed up, feeling the bark of a nearby tree before slinking against it. She still kept his promise to him. She had lived, and continued to do so, and would continue until her breath would be taken from her and made up the wisps of the air in the earth. 

“Stay with me,” she whispered in vain. 

He wasn’t there. And she knew that. She had made sure of it decades ago and she was glad for it. That he was finally free of this place. Finally at peace. 

But still, the wind lifted her greying braid, and the willows swayed and spun, the branches cracking.

Maybe it was the marsh. Or her imagination. She had to fight to keep the memory of him alive within her, after all those years. Being the only one to bear such a secret, such love, such a story was a heavy burden. But the feeling was still there, and that always was a reminder that it truly _d__id_ _ happen.  _

And as she basked in the glow of the full moon, who knew so much more about their story than anyone ever could, a glimmer of that light, purposefully shone at her. The sparkle, blinding. 

It seemed to say,  _ always.  _

_ fin.  _

* * *

_ Into the swamps and through the trees _

_ We warned you of your destiny _

_ For no one goes into the marsh _

_ The things that they shall find _

_ Into the dark and through the green _

_ You’re never alone, they always see _

_ For no one goes into the marsh _

_ They leave their soul behind _

* * *

  
  
  



End file.
